Into the Abyss
by CurbyQuince'sNephew
Summary: Goblet of Fire alternate graveyard scenario. Barty Crouch, Jr. escaped the grounds on the night of the Third Task, and Harry is taken captive and held at the Malfoy manor. This story focuses on the relationships between Harry and Snape (not slash), Harry and Sirius (NOT slash), and could be considered heavy on the hurt-comfort. (Warnings inside)
1. Introduction

**Warnings:** This fanfic contains one-sided homosexual advances that do NOT culminate in anything beyond some inappropriate groping.

**Characters: **Harry Potter, Severus Snape, Sirius Black, members of the Order, the Weasley family, Voldemort and company (notably, Barty Crouch, Jr.), the Bukhalov family** (****the last mention being the only characters that are NOT owned by J. K. Rowling, with one or two small exceptions)**

**Time Frame: **Alternate graveyard scenario. Harry is 14.

**Into the Abyss**

**Chapter One**

**"Introduction"**

Harry was looking around the graveyard. It was completely silent and slightly eerie. "Is this supposed to be part of the task?"

"I dunno," said Cedric. He sounded slightly nervous. "Wands out, d'you reckon?"

"Yeah," said Harry, glad that Cedric had made the suggestion rather than him.

They pulled out their wands. Harry kept looking around him. He had, yet again, the strange feeling that they were being watched.

"Someone's coming," he said suddenly.

Squinting tensely through the darkness, they watched the figure drawing nearer, walking steadily toward them between the graves. Harry couldn't make out a face, but from the way it was walking and holding its arms, he could tell that it was carrying something. Whoever it was, he was tall, and wearing a hooded cloak pulled up over his head to obscure his face. And—several paces nearer, the gap between them closing all the time—Harry saw that the thing in the person's arms looked like a baby… or was it merely a bundle of robes?

Harry lowered his wand slightly and glanced sideways at Cedric. Cedric shot him a quizzical look. They both turned back to watch the approaching figure.

It stopped beside a towering marble headstone, only six feet from them. For a second, Harry and Cedric and the tall figure simply looked at one another.

And then, without warning, Harry's scar exploded with pain. It was agony such as he had never felt in all his life; his wand slipped from his fingers as he put his hands over his face; his knees buckled; he was on the ground, and he could see nothing at all; his head was about to split open.

From far away, above his head, he heard a high, cold voice say, "Kill the spare."

A swishing noise and a second voice, which yelled the words to the night: "Avada Kedavra!"

A blast of green light blazed through Harry's eyelids, and he heard something heavy fall to the ground; the pain in his scar reached such a pitch that he retched, and then it diminished. Terrified of what he was about to see, he opened his stinging eyes.

Cedric was lying spread-eagled on the ground beside him. He was dead.

For a split second that contained an eternity, Harry stared into Cedric's face, at his open gray eyes, blank and expressionless as the windows of a deserted house, at his half-open mouth, which looked slightly surprised. And then, before Harry's mind had accepted what he was seeing, before he could feel anything but numb disbelief, he felt himself being pulled to his feet.

The tall man in the cloak had put down his bundle, lit his wand, and was dragging Harry toward the marble headstone. Harry saw the name upon it flickering in the wandlight before he was forced around and slammed against it.

TOM RIDDLE

The tall man gripped the shoulder of Harry's cloak and ripped it, jostling Harry against the headstone as he forcibly removed the boy's outer robe. Harry, disoriented and confused by the stabbing pains in his scar, was unable to fight back.

The cloaked man was now conjuring tight cords around Harry, tying him to the headstone from neck to hips. Harry could hear fast breathing from the depths of the hood; he struggled again, and the man hit him; the violent motion caused the hood of his cloak to fall back. White blond hair gleamed in the moonlight, and a pale, pointed face stared at him through the darkness.

"You!" Harry gasped.

But Lucius Malfoy, who had finished conjuring the ropes, did not reply; he was callously checking the tightness of the cords, pulling roughly against them at every level. When he was sure Harry couldn't move at all, he stood back for a moment to admire his work.

Harry seized the opportunity. "You have to let me go, Mr. Malfoy," he said brashly, his head on fire. He tried to search Malfoy's face—all he saw there was unmasked excitement. It sent a chill down his spine.

Lucius, smiling gently, raised his silver-handled wand and placed the wand tip against Harry's chest. "Goodnight, Potter," he said with a soft smile. Harry's eyes widened but he had no time to react as Lucius spoke the spell. "Stupefy."

Harry slammed backward into the headstone and then fell limp against the cords, unconscious. Still smiling, Lucius drew a large knife from the folds of his cloak.

He punctured the tender skin in the crook of Harry's arm right through the thin fabric of the boy's shirt. Next he extracted a small vile from a pocket inside his robes and held it up to capture a small amount of blood inside. Finished, he stood back to examine the little glass container and its swirling contents. "To think…" he murmured, his gray eyes moving to Harry's face, lingering on the lightning scar. "Your worthless blood will now serve a purpose, Potter."

After another moment, he stood back and turned, easily conjuring crisp flames beneath the heavy cauldron in the shadows.

"Wormtail," Lucius said sharply.

A short, hunched figure stumbled forward, his eyes darting from Lucius to the bundle of robes, to Harry, then back to Lucius. The rat-like man was shaking more and more as he drew nearer and nearer to the squirming bundle.

"Do it now, Wormtail." This voice issued from inside the robes next to the cauldron. It was high pitched and cold. New tremors coursed through the little man's body, but he slowly approached the cauldron. When he stood beside it, Lucius held out the knife that he'd used to cut Harry's arm, and Wormtail took it with trembling fingers. His beady eyes were now fixed upon the boiling contents of the cauldron. Slowly, tremulously, he extended both his arms out over the cauldron, his right hand gripping the knife above his left wrist. He stood poised this way, shaking, for several seconds, seemingly unable to proceed.

"NOW!" Lucius ordered.

Wormtail swung the knife up with a cry of terror, and plunged it downward across his bared wrist. The splash his hand made as it hit the water was drowned out by Wormtail's scream of pain. The man fell to the ground, cradling his stump of an arm, gasping and rolling. Lucius coldly ignored the anguished cries and stepped over Wormtail to pour Harry's blood into the seething froth. He spoke words he had memorized in a low tone, and the bundle of robes stirred and hissed as white steam rose into the air.

"Yes," issued a rasping voice from the depths of the bundle. "Yes, I already feel the power… Restored ...by the blood of Harry Potter."

Harry awoke slowly. His head pounded fiercely, and at first, he had no recollection of where he could possibly be. Then, the memories started flooding back to him in flashing images and sounds. Cedric's dead eyes stared up at him; Lucius Malfoy's face loomed so near to him that he could feel the man's breath on his neck as he was pushed into Riddle's headstone—

Harry gasped and tried to sit up, his heart racing, but found that he was tied securely to the ground on his back, his wrists bound to the floor above his head. His ankles were bound in identical fashion—leather-like cords on chains, which attached to pegs jutting out from the stone floor. His right arm stung and he glanced up at it. Dried blood could be seen through a rip in his white shirt. His Hogwarts robes had been removed and were nowhere to be seen. His shoes and socks were also missing, but he was fully clothed.

He was in a spacious, dungeon-like room with no windows or doors. The source of light, dim as it was, came from a barred-off stairwell leading up to what Harry could only assume was the residence of one of his captors. There was no sound, and Harry was grateful. He wanted to be left alone down here as long as possible.

He thought of the little child-like thing in the bundle of robes…its cruel, high-pitched voice… the pain he had experienced just to be in its presence…

His breath hitched in his chest again. He didn't want to think about that creature. The image of the thing in his head sent chills down his spine. At the very least, Harry tried to hold onto the idea that there was no doubt that Dumbledore was already searching for him. Aided perhaps by Sirius. And if Dumbledore and Sirius were searching for Harry, maybe there was hope…

He closed his eyes and heaved a great breath, trying to push the searing pain in his scar to the back of his mind. It hadn't stopped hurting since he had regained consciousness.

A floor above him, Lucius Malfoy sat at the head of a long, wooden table, fingers entwined in front of him, cold eyes fixed on the chandelier above. A smile remained etched on his marble face as he considered their unbelievable feat. Everything had changed; it was all coming together. His powerful lord had finally returned, and it would mean a long overdue return to the old ways—the way of life that Malfoy had only ever pretended to move on from.

He would finally have his freedom back, the power to express and inflict his values upon the entire wizarding community… values that would guarantee the success of pure bloodlines around the globe. The influence of the muggle-lovers in international government would finally be abolished, and the wizarding world would at long last be rid of those filthy-blooded imposters grown in those rancid wombs of nonmagic scum.

A sneer curled Lucius Malfoy's upper lip. He saw Potter's face in his mind's eye. "Nothing would please me more than to show you your place," he murmured into the empty air, eyes glinting.

**Thanks!**


	2. Patience

**Chapter Two**

**"Patience"**

Sirius Black paced the floor of Dumbledore's office, his wand in hand and his brow furrowed. Dumbledore's eyes twinkled over his spectacles at him from behind a mahogany desk.

"Sirius," began Dumbledore, as though this was not his first try.

"No," Sirius said angrily, and his pacing worsened. Around the edges of Dumbledore's office sat various member of staff, including Professor McGonagall, and Hagrid. They watched Sirius's progress in silence.

"Sirius," said Dumbledore again, and the placating tone in his voice had changed into something more firm. "You have lost your temper. You have yelled. And still we do not have Harry here with us. You must sit, and we can all progress with our wits about us."

Sirius grit his teeth, knowing Dumbledore was right. He backed slowly into a chair against the wall, trying to take a deep breath. He didn't want to sit-he wanted to charge forward with wands blazing-but he trusted Dumbledore wholeheartedly. He would wait for news from Snape, because Dumbledore thought it best.

**Wondering what happened to this chapter? PM the author! (And review)**


	3. Crouch's Son

**jogger: **Thanks for the feedback!

**-Tyler-Blaise-: **Your encouragement hits home : ) Very happy to know the story is catching on. (And as a sidenote you DID spell 'brilliantly' correctly lol)

**js1408: **Thanks! I'll be updating very regularly.

**tramsnowtige**: Gracias! I'm trying to be as true to Rowling's writing style as I can.

**Chapter Three**

**"Crouch's Son"**

Severus Snape strode briskly down a hallway toward the mess hall, black eyes fixed unblinkingly ahead of him. His shoes made echoing _clacks _against the polished wood floor, which would have struck any onlookers as very strange given that Snape's body was entirely invisible.

He glanced around him before holding his wand aloft and performing a quick, nonverbal spell. His next steps were eerily silent.

He was nearing the end of the corridor. Snape took a deep breath and emptied his mind of all thought. His heart slowed and behind his dark eyelids, his mind became the glassy surface of a lake. Not a ripple moved.

As he neared the end of the corridor he drew level with a closed door on the right. He stood against the wall to the right of the door and inclined his head toward the doorframe. Pointing his wand in the direction of the locked room, Snape gave a small flick and muttered, "_Audio specialis."_

The voices inside the room were immediately magnified to perfectly audible levels in his ears.

… "—what with the ministry involved, an' all," a male voice was saying. "We can't expect them to just float out of the woodwork, can we?"

Snape assumed they were referring to surviving members of the old Order, all of whom were now targets of the Death Eaters rekindled wrath.

"Supposedly Snape's on it," came another male voice.

There was some muttering. Snape heard Bellatrix's soft, derisive laugh, and an unknown voice interjected. "I'm not sayin' he's a rat, I'd just like to know where he was that night in the graveyard, is all."

"The Dark Lord has had words with him," said the unmistakable voice of Lucius Malfoy. "And if the Dark Lord trusts Snape, then so must we."

There was a sniff, and Bellatrix Lestrange spoke up. "I don't like him. I'd get rid of him, if the Dark Lord would allow it."

"Which he will not," responded Lucius.

Snape could clearly picture the scene in his mind. Lucius was sitting at the head of the table, and the rest of them were scattered along it, stretching comfortably back in the safety of their hallowed haunt.

"Maybe I can't have Snape," Bellatrix's voice hissed, sounding furious. "But the Dark Lord has promised that I will be the one to kill Harry Potter."

A ringing silence followed this. Snape strained to catch every word.

"Don't delude yourself, Bellatrix." Lucius' voice dripped venom.

"If you don't believe me, you'll see who's right in the end," There was a scraping of wood on wood as Bellatrix got to her feet.

"This is my house, and you will remember it." Lucius growled softly. "If you think that the Dark Lord would entrust me with his greatest accomplishment since his immortality—and then not give me the responsibility of following through—then you are deluded."

None of the others made a sound.

"You think the Dark Lord does not trust me?" Hissed Bellatrix.

"Let us say…there are some in whom he is willing to confide, and then there are others who serve him best as objects, if you will. Tools." His tone was piercingly cold.

Bellatrix exploded. "You're nothing! You're _NOTHING_! WORTHLESS! You pretend to be pure, but I see right through you, _Lucius!_" She let out a howl of frustration as words failed her. Snape knew he had little time before she would come storming out into this very hallway. He was feeling the beginnings of deep disappointment; he hadn't learned where Potter was, and he'd heard nothing at all of Diggory. He had a nasty feeling the latter was unlikely to still be alive.

He heard Bellatrix's footsteps pounding on the floor as she made for the door. She stopped, her hand on the door handle, her breathing shallow. "I'll have the last word," she heaved. "The Dark Lord trusts me above any of you."

"Time will tell, Bellatrix."

The door crashed open and Bellatrix marched angrily into the corridor. She flew past Snape, who remained rigidly still against the wall. Once the sound of her clicking shoes had receded down the corridor Snape heard the others settle back into their seats, some beginning to chuckle.

"No matter," said Lucius' voice, having calmed considerably. They were all accustomed to the woman's outbursts. "She'll recover."

But there was not one more mention of Harry Potter. Snape waited for what felt like an hour while they laughed and chatted but they never returned to that topic. He supposed he had been lucky to hear what he had-he now knew beyond any doubt that the Death Eaters did have the boy, and that Harry was still alive. After one more moment of hesitation, Snape gave up on his hopes of further illumination and whirled away from the locked door with a swish of his invisible cloak.

Dumbledore would want to hear the news, however unsatisfactory it may be.

**SEVEN FLOORS BELOW**

Harry hadn't seen Voldemort since their earlier encounter, but his scar never let up its relentless throbbing. Wormtail had been to the dungeon, the first time leaving a jar of water beside Harry and releasing one of the boy's arms so he could drink. The second visit (Harry had no sense of what time of day it was) the squat man brought a very small bowl of brown rice and an apple.

Harry tried to talk to Wormtail on that occasion. "Peter? Peter Pettigrew?"

The hunched wizard didn't look at Harry, but dropped the plate quickly beside him and promptly straightened up again, as though proximity to Harry caused him pain. Then he turned on his heel and scurried away toward the door.

"Wait," Harry tried again as Wormtail applied himself noisily to the padlock, but the man was already clanging the barred door shut behind him and hurrying back up the stone steps.

Harry turned his attention to the food, realizing how hungry he was as his stomach gave a loud rumble. He emptied the bowl on the inside of two minutes and gnawed the apple down to the core; when he was done he lay still, feeling just as empty as he had before he'd eaten.

He tried his best to relax and sink into the cold stone floor, staring up at the ceiling. There was nothing to occupy his mind, so all he did was think. Mostly about Sirius, and about Dumbledore… about when he would be rescued, or what would happen if that day never came. How long would they keep him imprisoned here? He knew that the eventual outcome at the hands of the Death Eaters could only be his own murder…

Harry couldn't fall back asleep, though he dearly wanted to. He was running his free hand over the crevices in the floor beside him when the sound of footsteps reached his ears again. It couldn't be Wormtail, back already—

Harry snapped to alert, his green eyes darting to the entrance of the dungeon.

It was a solitary visitor, someone Harry had not yet seen. The stranger stood quite still just inside the door of the dungeon. Harry couldn't make out a face, but guessed that whoever it was, the visitor was looking back at him. Moments dragged on and the man remained unmoving, his black-cloaked body silhouetted against the artificial light of the stairwell behind him. Harry, feeling more and more apprehensive, lay quite still.

Then the stranger stepped forward several paces and Harry was able to see his face. Straw-colored hair topped a freckled face and clashed oddly with the man's reddish complexion. "Hello, Harry," the man spoke. There was something undeniably familiar about that voice… Harry's heart was hammering as the man approached him. "I was wondering when the Dark Lord would be allowing me to see you again."

Harry's gaze flickered in a frown, searching the man's unfamiliar features. _Again_?

The man's face split into a cracked smile. "Allow me to introduce myself. The name's Barty Crouch."

Harry's frown deepened. "I've met Barty Crouch," he accused. "You're not him."

The man's smirk dimmed. "I know you've met my very dear, very dead father, Potter. You'll find I'm the better company."

Harry couldn't hold back a disbelieving snort. He remembered the trip he'd taken into Dumbledore's penseive, and the scene he had witnessed inside it. He had watched Barty Crouch Senior convict his own son of being a Death Eater and sentence the boy to a life in Azkaban. Dumbledore said that the had died in prison no more than a year after his incarceration…

"My stupid father didn't give me enough credit, Potter," growled Crouch. "He thought he'd be able to keep me like a pet under his little invisibility cloak, and I wouldn't find a way to return to my family." Crouch made a sweeping gesture behind him that encompassed the stairs and the room above. "To return my Master to his rightful body…" He breathed deeply, filled with reverence, and then snapped his attention back to Harry. "But here I am. And where is my father?"

Harry was silent.

"He's dead, Potter. _I_ killed him. He was beginning to catch on…"

Something occurred to Harry. "Were you at Hogwarts that day?" He asked with burning curiosity. "But how did you get onto the grounds?"

A sneer darkened Crouch's face. "That," he said in a low voice, "Isn't your concern." Crouch's eyes raked Harry, who suddenly felt very nervous. "You have no idea how long I've waited, Potter. You don't know how it feels to finally achieve the success of a lifetime. You don't know the suffering caused by having to wait so long…"

"I'll be out of here soon," Harry told him, starting to feel angry, "So you'll have to wait a bit longer."

"We'll see. For now, we get to have our fun," said Crouch. The man's eyes lingered for moments more on Harry, who saw there an unfamiliar kind of hunger. Then the man smiled coldly again. "Enjoy your time, Potter."

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	4. To Grimmauld

**Here you are, then. Enjoy!**

**Chapter Four**

**"To Grimmauld"**

In his dream, Harry was walking with Sirius along the underground passageway leading to the Shrieking Shack on the night that Harry had learned of Sirius's innocence. Sirius stopped walking and faced him, letting Snape's limp head loll carelessly against the earthy wall. He spoke a few apprehensive words.

Then Harry was feeling dawning amazement spreading through his body at the idea that he could finally leave the Dursleys. Going to live with his father's best friend seemed like an offer too good to be true. The smells and sounds of the scene were clearly detailed... Harry saw again the haunted, grim look in Sirius's eyes momentarily lift as the man really smiled for what must have been the first time in thirteen years.

Then Harry saw a bright, frightening flash of a face in his mind's eye—Lord Voldermort's face, with his eyes fixed on Harry, his slit-like nostrils dilating lustfully.

Harry's eyes flew open. Bolts of pain shot through his scar and his gasps resounded dully in the damp air as he slowly remembered where he was. He reached up with his free hand to wipe cold sweat from his brow, his heart still beating rapidly against his ribcage. He tried to blink away the image of Voldemort's red, gleaming eyes that seemed imprinted upon the backs of his eyelids.

But he was utterly alone in the dungeon prison. He didn't even know whether it was day or night, or how long he'd been sleeping.

A soft pattering reached his ears from a nearby corner; it sounded as though a rat or a mouse was hopping along the floor beside the wall, out of his line of sight. He heaved a great sigh. He had a particular bias against rats after having learned the true identity of Ron's pet Scabbers in their third year.

"Get lost," he tried to croak at it, but he sounded half-hearted even to himself.

**TWO FLOORS ABOVE**

Snape was pacing a small library in the Malfoy Manor when Wormtail found him. The squat little man hovered at the door, flexing his silvery hand very nervously, his beady eyes darting from Snape to various places in the room. Snape, who had stopped walking, raised one thin eyebrow in Wormtail's direction. The Potions Master's face was thrown into flickering shadow by the dancing flames in the hearth behind him, which was the only light source the room had to offer.

Wormtail seemed to be grasping desperately at the resolve to say or ask something extremely difficult. He took a few timid steps into the room, now fixing Snape with his full, watery gaze.

"Get on with it, Wormtail," said Snape in a smooth voice. "I'm busy."

"I've got something to ask you, Snape," said Wormtail, his voice wavering, "And I want the truth!"

Snape sneered, his black eyes narrowing. "I don't answer to you, Wormtail. In fact, you answer to me."

"Not exactly in his inner circle anymore, are you?" Wormtail retorted, a twitch going below his eye. "He hasn't shared very much with you at all, has he?"

"You may leave."

"I need to know where your loyalties lie!" Wormtail ejaculated, his face reddening dangerously. "Are you truly a servant of the Dark Lord, or are you Dumbledore's man?"

Snape scowled down at Wormtail, prodding the man's mind. Unfortunately it was so ratlike that it was difficult for him to decipher. "Do you not agree, Wormtail, that whatever the Dark Lord believes should also be good enough for a dim-witted, under qualified wizard such as yourself?"

Wormtail's jowls quivered, but he clenched his fists and plowed on. "I hear things, as a rat!" He burst out, now positively rocking on the balls of his feet, his hands intertwining in front of him. "I've heard things—while I was at Hogwarts, as that boy's pet, I would spend time in the air shafts and the staffrooms. When I hid, trying to hear news of Black, I would hear the professors…their conversations…"

"I don't have times for _games, _Wormtail," said Snape with apparent indifference, though he was listening very closely.

"I think what you've really been doing is lying to the Dark Lord," said Wormtail finally, quavering, and now something very peculiar glinted in his beady eyes.

Snape fixed him with a cold stare. "I suggest you take up your concern with the Dark Lord, if it means enough to you," he said scathingly.

"I'm not here about the Dark Lord!" Yelped Wormtail breathlessly. Snape continued to glare unmovingly. Wormtail seemed to be just barely restraining himself from wringing his mismatched hands; there was an air of frozen uncertainty, his tiny eyes searching Snape's narrowed ones in pursuit of something Snape could not identify. Then, reaching a frenzied conclusion, Wormtail turned abruptly on his heel and disappeared through the open door with a twirl of his short blue cloak.

Snape, expelling a snarl of frustration, covered the distance to the door in a few great strides. He searched the dark corridor for Wormtail's retreating back, but there was no sign of the wizard in either direction. He would have changed into his rodent form, and had probably scurried off into the walls. Snape pounded a fist against the door frame, his body rigid as he stared into the empty hallway.

There had been something so puzzling about Wormtail's demeanor. The man's tone had sounded almost… _pleading. _Not at all accusatory…

The more he thought about it, the more certain Snape was that he'd come very close to something significant. Wormtail's eyes had said more than his words had, and Snape was quickly beginning to wonder whether he may have played the cards wrong. Had Wormtail been trying to reach out to the Order? If he had been, Snape knew it could only concern one thing... Harry Potter.

If Wormtail knew the boy's location, Potter's outlook would be dramatically improved. Snape could always use force to get the information Wormtail was having such difficulty concealing, but he probably wouldn't have to. Wormtail was obviously having doubts, and Snape knew it could mean the difference between life and death for Potter.

Dumbledore may have been right after all when he'd told Snape about the debt formed between Potter and Wormtail. _Saving the rat's life may indeed pay off for the boy, _Snape pondered darkly.

Before Snape could set out to find Wormtail, he needed a word with Dumbledore. All the fireplaces inside the Malfoy Manor were being closely monitored at all times, so he couldn't risk the Floo Network, and a Patronus could only deliver a one sided message.

Snape's only option would be to attempt a mental connection.

The time was well past midnight, and the Malfoy Manor was to all appearances deserted as Snape swept downward through the stony, torch-lit corridors heading for the pathway outside. He was cloaked by invisibility once more.

**GRIMMAULD PLACE**

Sirius Black took a tentative step forward, surveying the sprawling nighttime façade of his childhood home with clear distaste. His long hair hung about his face with the same kind of wild madness from his days in Azkaban, but it was cleaner now and less matted, giving him a very rugged look. His clothes, no longer filthy rags from his cursed days as a fugitive, consisted of a rather faded gray shirt, a denim hooded jacket, and a pair of scruffy-looking, dark brown jeans. He wore thick boots that looked as though they could withstand a solar winter.

Just then, the sound of a crack behind him on the street signaled the arrival of Remus Lupin. Sirius turned. "Never thought I'd be coming back here," he said to his longtime friend.

Lupin clapped him gently on the shoulder. "Let's move along. Dumbledore warned us about the charms we'll likely find protecting the house, and he's already made himself Secret Keeper so we won't be having any unexpected guests, but he's sure you're the one who needs to be here to undo the defensive spells your mother left for us." Lupin followed Sirius up the front steps toward Number 12 with caution.

"Knowing my dear mum, we shouldn't even need a Secret Keeper," Sirius snorted. "I'll wager there's enough dark magic protecting this place to keep out Voldemort himself. She was a piece of work, my mother."

Lupin waited behind Sirius as the man fumbled with his wand at the door's silver keyhole. Sirius muttered something under his breath while Lupin kept an eye on the street behind them, and then the lock clicked and Sirius straightened up again.

The huge door swung forward. Sirius, closely tailed by Lupin, stepped forward into the narrow, dusty hallway.

Cobwebs covered every surface. A great crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling at the edge of the light twinkling in from outside, and disappearing into the darkness down the hall were what looked like deformed, decapitated heads on wall plaques. A large set of curtains to their right concealed what Sirius knew to be an enormous and evil tempered portrait of Mrs. Black herself. "Well… welcome to Grimmauld Place," whispered Sirius dispiritedly. Gesturing toward the moth eaten fabric covering the painting of his mother, he added darkly, "Don't touch that."

Behind him Lupin closed the front door, shutting out the dim light from the streetlamp and plunging them into total darkness.

"_Lumos,"_ whispered Sirius, and his wand tip ignited; their dusty surroundings were sent into eerie relief. Sirius took a few steps toward a hallway table adorned in so many cobwebs that they trailed off its sides onto the ground. "I can't imagine what that bedamned house elf has been up to. Look at the state of this place."

Lupin was also looking around the hallway with well-disguised disfavor. "Let's get to the kitchen," He suggested, leaning around Sirius, who was now staring moodily at one of the decapitated heads along the wall. "We should make sure at least that much of the way is clear before Dumbledore arrives."

Sirius nodded, and the two of them proceeded slowly into the dark house.

About forty minutes later, Sirius and Lupin were seated on either side of a rickety, wooden table in the dimly lit kitchen. Each of them clutched a mug of firewhisky they had unearthed from a dusty pantry, and both wore tense, furrowed expressions. The atmosphere could have been cut with a knife, and as the minutes dragged by the tension stretched.

Lupin took a large swig of his drink and put it back on the table with a rather loud _crack. _The sound jolted Sirius from his reverie.

"I don't know what Dumbledore's playing at," said Sirius loudly, shaking his head. "Every second we're waiting here, Harry could be… "

"He'll be along any moment," said Lupin quickly, reaching across the table to lay a reassuring hand on the back of Sirius's arm.

"I just mean… who knows what they're doing to him?" Said Sirius in a raspy voice. "Who knows if he's still alive—"

"That won't help anyone." Lupin gave Sirius's arm a squeeze and let go. "Listen to what your intuition is telling you. I, for one, believe Harry is alive. There's no good to come from sickening ourselves with rootless fears. We just need to wait until the right time to move."

"The right time to move! If you were asking me, I'd say the _right_ time would've been the moment someone tricked that Goblet into selecting him! Or at the very least, the night he never came out of that maze…" Sirius's voice trailed off and he stopped, his palms flat against the table, eyes shining.

It was then that a small bell on the ceiling near the kitchen door chimed, and both Lupin and Sirius leapt to their feet. Sirius had lifted the enchantment from the house's perimeter that would have defended against any non-Black visitor, and someone had just arrived.

The two men hung silently against the wall of the pitch black corridor, just around the corner from the entrance hall where they could hear someone rustling about. After another long moment, they heard the voice of Albus Dumbledore. "Now I understand what Sirius meant."

Sirius and Lupin peeled themselves away from the wall and hurried down the carpet into the wandlight of Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall. Hagrid stood behind them, blocking the entire front door from view.

"Ah," said Dumbledore. "I'm glad to see you gained entry without too much difficulty."

"It was easy enough," Sirius responded, his tone slightly impatient. "I've dismantled the defenses."

Dumbledore moved into the hallway, allowing room for the other two to space out a little. "Shall we make our way somewhere more comfortable?"

Sirius didn't move. "More—comfortable? We have to go and get Harry!"

"Harry is the topic we need to discuss," said Dumbledore in a soothing tone. "But I would prefer not to do so while standing beside the head of a decapitated elf. I've had more news from Severus—it's the reason for our lateness. Shall we?" Dumbledore extended his hand, indicating that Sirius should lead the way back into the depths of the house. Without wasting another moment, Sirius acquiesced.

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	5. The Traitor's Dilemma

**You people are really growing on me.**

**Chapter Five**

**"The Traitor's Dilemma"**

Pettigrew lingered at the back of the dungeon in the form of a rat, watching the Potter boy with something akin to empathy. He'd had many long years in hiding to think about what he'd done to the Potters that night… the decision that had led to the murder of Lily and James.

He'd been scared, a coward… that hadn't changed…

But there is something about solitary confinement that can really change a person, sometimes for the better, sometimes for worse. Thirteen years as a rat had certainly _felt_ like isolation to Pettigrew, whose wandering thoughts of dissention had grown more and more pronounced with each passing hour since Potter's arrival.

He had always known how wrong he'd been to have given in to the Dark Lord. He couldn't deny that giving Lily and James to Voldemort was the worst and most treacherous deed of his whole regrettable life. But seeing their son chained to the floor of Malfoy's dungeon had struck a feeling in Pettigrew that didn't sit well at all. It was an urge…a compulsion that he couldn't quite put his finger on.

He'd been ordered to perform a spell on Harry at mealtimes to prevent the boy from needing to use the bathroom, which was a prime excuse for Pettigrew to prolong the time he spent within the confines of the dungeon.

Pettigrew knew that one of the aspects of the plan would be to weaken Potter, mentally and physically, and the confinement alone was unlikely to do the trick… But it was more than the worth of his hide to ask for any details at all, so Pettigrew spent the majority of his time in speculation.

When he wasn't in the dungeon with Potter, he was upstairs in human form, preparing meals for the boy and listening to the conversations of the others. Lucius Malfoy in particular spent a lot of his time in the drawing room above the dungeons, talking and laughing with the rest of the Death Eaters. They were all in confident, flamboyant moods, and with good reason: their master was back, and thriving. The Order of the Phoenix was still silent, and no real obstacles had yet arisen.

Though neither Voldemort nor any of his followers besides Pettigrew had been back down into the dungeon since day one, most of them wiled away long hours every day in that drawing room talking about Harry.

"Execution style, tomorrow night at sun down," Macnair had started saying to anyone who would listen.

"I heard they're hangin' 'im upside-down by his ankles from the ceiling, an' he sways there howlin' all night," another no-name had tried to claim impressively. Nobody paid much attention to him though, for Lucius Malfoy chose this moment to stand.

"It's not endearing, you know, pretending you know these things when really you know nothing at all, because you haven't been told." He fixed the blotchy-faced wizard with a cold stare. "I know Bellatrix is fond of spreading stories all over the manor. I also know you are all intelligent enough to realize that the Dark Lord would not trust Bellatrix Lestrange with the same level of responsibility he places in someone like _me._" He said the last word sharply, as though it were a knife with which to cut away any doubt about his station at Voldemort's side.

He let silence sit upon them for a second. Pettigrew, who had been hovering at the back of the room for as long as he dared, listened even more intently.

"I and I alone will be the one the Dark Lord trusts with this great honor. _No one else will touch Potter._"

Pettigrew shivered.

"Don't make me remind you, Lucius…" this voice was dangerous too, but held less authority than Malfoy's. Barty Crouch Jr. was peering up from an adjacent chair.

Lucius glared down at the blond-haired, freckled faced man with dignified superiority written all over his face. "If you hadn't been so helpful to the Dark Lord during this past year, the Dark Lord wouldn't be letting you anywhere _near_ him."

"Naturally, naturally," said Crouch. "But don't you forget, we'd have never even gotten the boy if it weren't for me, so I'll claim my rights, if it's all the same."

The Death Eaters loved discussing Harry as though he were a particularly succulent piece of meat that would ultimately be awarded to them. The more a person knew about the Potter boy, the higher ranking that person was likely to be.

Pettigrew returned to his soggy corner of the dungeon to watch Harry. This down time the boy was enjoying would surely end soon, and when it did Pettigrew would have missed his only chance to make a move. His only opportunity to redeem himself and find acceptance among the wizarding community would have slipped by him and he would be forced to remain a servant to the Dark Lord. He would never escape the daily threat of torture, murder and deception.

He heard the Potter boy stirring. Pettigrew stopped grooming and looked up; Potter was picking at the leather around his wrist and the knot securing it to the metal chains on the stone. The boy couldn't see what he was doing because his wrist was locked firmly to the floor over his head, so after a few minutes, he stopped and lay still again.

It had only been a few days, but to Harry it felt like more than a week since he'd awakened here. Every time someone appeared in the stairwell outside his barred door, he would lie completely still and stare angrily at the visitor until he made his exit.

No revelation had occurred to him in all these hours of restless confinement… no idea had brought him any closer to escape.

Firstly there was the matter of the chains binding him. They appeared to be made out of some kind of dully glowing metal attached to strong leather straps that fastened around his ankles and wrists. Harry guessed the shackles were laced with magic. The blue glow never flickered or faded, and the metal did not reflect wandlight or firelight. Wherever the leather of the bindings touched him his skin was red and sweaty, and small waves of what felt like electricity were shivering up and down his limbs.

He had begun to feel as though he'd been all but abandoned by the Death Eaters. After Voldemort's threatening first visit, he had expected similar treatment on a regular basis, but his only visitors had been Wormtail and the straw-haired, freckle faced Barty Crouch, Jr.

He didn't want to imagine their reasons for keeping him alive… Voldemort ought to know there was no hope of turning him against Dumbledore, or convincing him to give up any information.

What Harry didn't realize was that he was losing strength by the minute. His restraints did indeed possess dark magical elements: energy was being pulled through Harry's skin into the leather, which came from the hide of a Vampiricus. Vampirici had to come into physical contact with their prey in order to affect it, which made the hide of these creatures ideal for use in instruments of treachery and war. It worked by pulling the life force of the victim into the leather, and then transferring the energy rather ingeniously into the goblin made steel chains. The metal was capable of storing unlimited levels of life energy for an indefinite period of time.

Lucius Malfoy had discovered the _frenums_ at a silent auction down Knockturn Alley several months prior to Lord Voldemort's downfall, and after the disappearance of the Dark Lord he had them moved into hiding somewhere in Norway. They had only been retrieved on the day that the Dark Lord had finally been resurrected, and Malfoy looked forward to watching them drain Potter of his life force. However, Voldemort didn't want the boy incapacitated—only weakened and easier to deal with—so the manacles would need to be removed every now and then.

Lord Voldemort had found Malfoy in the drawing room that very morning.

"Good morning, Lucius," he murmured, moving gracefully into the room with a soft rustling of his green robes. Good humor glinted evilly in his scarlet eyes.

"My Lord," replied Malfoy, making the usual low bow. In contrast to the Dark Lord's calm demeanor, Malfoy looked haggard and worn; strands of silver blond hair had fallen into his face and he hastily brushed them back, straightening the front of his robes.

"How has the night treated you, my friend?" Inquired Voldemort silkily.

"I've been awake, my Lord," Malfoy admitted. "All this waiting… I know it is for the best, for the ultimate victory, but while he's here the Order is drawing nearer and nearer. I worry… about Dumbledore."

The light expression on Voldemort's face dissolved rapidly. Malfoy stopped talking abruptly. After a moment, the Dark Lord's face relaxed again. "I should think you of all people would know that Lord Voldemort takes care of his enemies, Lucius."

"Yes, of course, my Lord. But my Lord, there are new members involved in the Order now. According to Snape, most of them—"

"I know what it is that Snape reports," interrupted Voldemort, his voice still smooth. "He does, after all, report to _me."_

Malfoy inclined his head. "Yes, my Lord."

"There are many new members central to the Order, it is true," Continued Voldemort. "But think of how their weaknesses abound!"

Malfoy looked up as Voldemort began to pace slowly, speaking passionately. "Dumbledore's own weakness is chained to the floor in your house, Lucius. We have his Achilles' heel, prepared for the fate I will deal him. Sirius Black—rash, stupid—hardly a threat; Wormtail tells us that Harry is Black's godson, which means we have both of them at yet another disadvantage. Lupin—the werewolf, the filthy half breed. I won't even give him the consideration.

"I hear some of the other Hogwarts professors have elected to join the Order, and fight against me… they will be killed, of course." Voldemort's head snapped up and he stopped walking. "They are all so _weak_, Lucius, you must see it. They have no chance, matched against the powers of Lord Voldemort."

"Of course," said Malfoy.

Voldemort strode across the carpeted floor to where Malfoy stood. "Go and remove Potter's arm and leg _frenums_, Lucius. Take them off, and leave him in the dungeon to recuperate for an hour or two before we commence with the afternoon."

Malfoy, nodding, turned a questioning gaze upon his master. "My Lord?" He began.

Voldemort laughed softly. "I can sense what is on your mind, my friend. You wonder if Bellatrix Lestrange and Bartemius Crouch have been speaking truthfully about my confidence in them. You wonder if, at the very last moment, I will take Harry Potter out of your hands and give him to one of them."

"Yes, my Lord," breathed Malfoy.

Voldemort gave a small shake of his head—a negative. "You shouldn't worry, Lucius. It is on you that I rely most, and I will continue to trust your faithful ways."

Malfoy almost didn't dare to push his luck, but he had to know. "And Severus Snape, my Lord?"

Voldemort's eyes flickered. "We shall have to wait and see. He is my loyal servant, that much I believe, but it remains to be seen whether or not he can be trusted with sensitive and _delicate_ information."

"Of course, my Lord," said Lucius Malfoy reverently, bowing deeply with barely concealed satisfaction. _So Snape hadn't been brought into the loop. _No news could have been more pleasing.

"Go and do as I've instructed," Voldemort said from the doorway, looking back. "I want him standing by the time I speak with him." Voldemort swept out the doorway, leaving Malfoy to Disapparate with a loud _crack._

He had Apparated into the stony room above the dungeon, but stopped mid-step. His gray eyes fell on a blond-haired youth sitting at one of the tables.

Draco Malfoy stared back, caught between insolence and apprehension.

"What are you doing here?" Lucius demanded, teeth bared. "If the Dark Lord were to catch you even_ one step _down those stairs, do you have any idea how severe the consequences would be?"

"I've just been sitting here! I haven't been down even one step." Draco told his father defensively, holding up his hands.

Lucius glared imperiously. "It had better stay that way," he warned his son. "You may hate the boy, and had an easy time of showing it while you were at school, but you've never known what it means to serve someone greater than yourself. It means sacrifice and obedience. If I were to hear that my own son was disobeying the Dark Lord's orders for the sake of fulfilling a schoolboy grudge…"

Lucius continued to stare angrily at Draco as he crossed the room and then descended into the narrow corner stairwell. Draco watched his father disappear beneath the floor, his expression resentful.

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	6. Inertia

**Chapter Six**

**"Inertia"**

Peter Pettigrew had hidden in a wall crevice at the first sound of approaching footsteps. From between two crumbling slabs of rock, he watched Lucius Malfoy entering the dungeon with a wand.

Harry had heard the footsteps, too. His head snapped up so fast his neck cricked in his attempt to watch the visitor unlock the door.

It was Malfoy. Harry's stomach plummeted.

"Morning, Potter," said Malfoy briskly. The sound of his boots against the stone floor was muffled due to the moisture in the room and the patchy beds of moss between the stones. "You're not looking very well. How are you feeling?"

Harry glared, gritting his teeth; he was indeed feeling quite ill and shaky. So far, he was attributing this nausea to his damp surroundings and close confinement, but the feeling had persistently begged his attention for a while now.

"Hmm…" said Malfoy softly. "Well, well… nothing a good walk-about won't cure, I would imagine."

Harry was nonplussed.

"I'm going to let you out of your cuffs, Potter," Malfoy explained, though he didn't look happy about it. "You have an appointment with the Dark Lord this afternoon."

Harry's heart skipped a beat.

Malfoy must have noticed Harry's breathing quicken, because he smirked. "I'd practice my curtsy if I were you," he sneered. In that moment, Harry was reminded more strongly than ever of the man's son: his arch nemesis Draco Malfoy.

Lucius lifted his wand and used his left hand to draw it gracefully out of its slim sheath. Harry only had an instant to wonder what Malfoy was planning on doing when the man pointed his wand straight down at him, saying "_Solvo somes." _Harry felt all three of his bindings release at once, and with them a surprising weight seemed to lift off his chest.

He tried to roll over with the intention of getting to his feet, but was shocked to find that his muscles were so weak he could barely prop himself on his elbows. Gasping, he pulled himself toward the wall and leaned against it, bare feet sliding on the moist stones as he gazed up at Malfoy in horrified wonder.

"You've been under the influence of _frenums,_ Potter," Malfoy offered maliciously in explanation. "Those arm and leg cuffs are a little gift of mine to the Dark Lord. A donation to the cause, if you will…"

Harry tried to use the wall to support himself in sitting up. He knew he must look pathetic, but he wanted to get into the least vulnerable position he could, and having the wall at his back seemed best. His legs were shaking, and sharp pains shot through his body whenever he moved. After a minute he gave up a little and let his head rest on the stone behind him, trying to relax his trembling body. This caused most of the pain and shakiness to abate.

He turned his gaze back up to Lucius Malfoy. Sweat shone on his face and neck but he tried hard to normalize his breathing.

"You'll be able to walk by the time you're brought upstairs," Malfoy told him.

Sudden hurried footsteps reached their ears, and both of them turned their heads to the door. Someone was standing on the bottom step staring in at them—and then the person growled, unlocked the door with a forceful jab from his wand (Harry eyed Malfoy's own wand during this moment of distraction) and marched across the floor toward them.

Lucius Malfoy stepped away from the wall and squared himself between Harry and the newcomer, who Harry could now see was Barty Crouch, Jr. The man was outraged, his yellow hair disheveled as he leveled furiously with Malfoy.

"I thought I made it clear, Malfoy?" Crouch seethed through stained teeth, looking alarmingly livid.

Malfoy was clearly the stronger of the pair. "I've had words with the Dark Lord, Crouch," he said dangerously. "I suggest you return to the comfort of your chair by the fire, unless you'd rather the Dark Lord kill you now for disobeying orders. He _did_ order us to stay away unless otherwise instructed. Had you forgotten?"

"The Dark Lord… has promised me…" Crouch tried, his eyes raking Harry with hungry intent.

"Driven as you are by torture and blood," said Malfoy crisply, "the Potter boy is mine by right, as are his activities during his stay in _my_ house. You've done your part. The Dark Lord's word is absolute."

Crouch was looking very upset by this indeed. He kept looking back and forth from where Malfoy stood to where Harry was propped awkwardly against the wall. Harry had the strong impression that Crouch wanted nothing more desperately than to see him suffer. The thought made him shudder; he quickly suppressed this, hoping neither of them had noticed.

"You'll regret it…" Crouch muttered, still eyeing Harry. "I spent an entire year holding myself back...I laid down my life—it's thanks to me he's here in the first place. I'll be back, boy!" He barked down at Harry as Lucius took an aggressive step forward, shunting Crouch toward the door.

"And if I learn you've come back here without permission, _you_ will regret it." Hissed Malfoy.

Harry had finally managed to sit up as Malfoy turned his attention back around, laying eyes on him again.

The Death Eater took in the state of the boy's clothes, and the dark circles under his eyes. He doubted Potter would last much longer past today, if the Dark Lord had his fun later… they would probably be putting the chains back on overnight, too. Potter wouldn't really be given a chance to recover.

"I'll send Wormtail down with some bread," Said Malfoy. He didn't want it on his head if Potter couldn't walk by lunch time as the Dark Lord wanted. "Don't try anything stupid, or you'll dearly pay."

Harry gave a small snort. Now that he wasn't on his back on the ground, he felt a touch of his old spirit returning.

Malfoy's lip curled. He said nothing more before he swept back out of the dungeon, clanking the door shut and locking it behind him.

At the sound of his name, Peter Pettigrew had vanished into a passage only he knew, scrambling through the walls until he came out in a hallway near the kitchens. Staring anxiously around to make sure he was alone, Pettigrew transformed into his human form and hurried off through a door to the right, wiping dirty hands on his robes.

He was just crossing the kitchen toward the pantry when he heard a connecting door swing open.

"Wormtail!" Lucius Malfoy snapped.

Pettigrew turned to face him, his beady eyes shifting uncomfortably.

"Bring down some bread. The Dark Lord wants him fed, so do it now." Malfoy studied Wormtail's face suspiciously for a second, but seemed to decide it was nothing of importance. "Make sure you clean him up a bit, as well."

Pettigrew nodded, wiping his hands down his front again. Malfoy was gone just as fast as he'd arrived, leaving the shorter man to fret on the spot for a moment before hurrying the rest of the way to the pantry door.

Now he had a moment to think as he selected a few crusty pieces of bread from a shelf. He'd learned a few things, the most vital of which being that somewhere around noon today there would be some sort of meeting_.__Unabashed torture, more like, _thought Pettigrew itchily.

He shivered, staring at a piece of cheese in very deep thought. If there was ever a time to decide to help Harry, this was it. Pettigrew knew that the outcome of today's events would likely be at least severe injury, if not psychological damage or death. After today, it might be too late.

His fingers clenched the slab of cheese and his watery eyes darted madly across its yellow surface.

Then he reached a decision.

He dropped the cheese and the two pieces of bread onto a plate, which he snatched up. He'd bring it to the boy, then go and find Snape. He could only hope he was right about the man.

He barreled out of the door intending to get to the dungeons at top speed, but was brought up so short that the bread and cheese plummeted off the plate and onto the floor with a muffled thud.

He had come face to face with Severus Snape, who was looming in his path with narrowed eyes.

"Why the rush, Wormtail?" Snape asked sharply.

"N-nothing, Snape," Pettigrew stammered, completely taken aback. "I—I mean, I'm just bringing the boy his food." Pettigrew's brows furrowed. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"Looking for you."

"I—what?"

Snape loomed closer, black hair gleaming in the light from the wall torch. "Where in the name of curses have you been?" He demanded, his quiet tone thunderous.

Pettigrew stared, his mouth hanging open.

"I thought perhaps you'd retreated to a quiet room while you weren't creeping around, bringing Potter his cheese. But I looked everywhere I could think of, Wormtail, and you weren't there."

Now that the shock of the encounter was wearing off, Pettigrew was remembering his plan with a sinking feeling. Did he really want to do it? Now that Snape was here, did he really have the courage to bridge that gap? It was an enormous risk… What if Dumbledore was wrong about Snape?

"You're coming with me," said Snape abruptly. Pettigrew looked up to see that Snape had been watching him very closely.

"Why would I do that?"

"Because, Wormtail, use your head! They can protect you! It would be stupid to say more here. We have to get out beyond the gate."

Pettigrew's eyes were wide as he stared, dumbstruck. Before he could say anything, Snape had gripped him by the upper arm and was steering him forcefully out into the corridor. Pettigrew hadn't seen him use his wand, but he felt a cold sensation spreading down his spine, and saw at a glance that both of them had become invisible.

They swept down the passageways, Pettigrew having given in. If the Order was going to make it this easy for him, then he couldn't see why he should resist. As far as he knew, they were leaving here right now, never to return, and he, Peter, would share everything he knew with the Order, who would accept him back willingly, recognizing his central role in Potter's rescue…

When they reached the entrance hall, they stopped unexpectedly. Pettigrew almost collided with Snape's back, and the resulting noise caused them both to hold their breath.

Bellatrix Lestrange was coming through the front door from outside wearing a very smug expression, and holding a few manila envelopes. She had evidently just received some mail by owl post. She paused for a moment, her brown eyes darting upward to sweep the entrance hall. Then her face relaxed and she took up a brisk pace again, turning a corner and vanishing from sight.

Pettigrew let out his breath, and heard Snape do the same. Snape threw a dark look over his shoulder. "Watch where you're going," he growled under his breath. "That could have cost us much more."

Snape pointed his wand at the closed door, and pulled Pettigrew through the solid wood. They had to do it quickly—anyone watching would have seen the places where their bodies touched the door blur momentarily—and then they were breathing the fresh morning air. Pettigrew, having held back a choke as he was dragged suddenly through a concrete object, now drew deep breaths of alarm.

"Move," Snape hissed, still pulling firmly on Pettigrew's arm. The little wizard had tripped over a rock and then straightened up, flustered. "We could still be seen, or heard!"

They made their way rapidly down the front walkway and halted at the gate. Snape wasted no time in stretching his wand arm through the bars and sending a bright, silvery Patronus out into the daylight. There was no time for any other communication.

"I can't go any further," he said quietly to Pettigrew. "I need to know where they're keeping the boy."

Pettigrew's eyes flickered, but he acquiesced, his voice wavery. "In a hidden dungeon beneath the drawing room."

"I've searched there, I didn't find anything."

"You're thinking of the wrong room. The one the Ministry searched two years back, right? No, you want a different one. This one never got found by any Ministry worker, that's certain."

Snape shook Pettigrew's arm impatiently. "How does one get in?"

"Ouch! It's a passageway behind a statue of a man holding a water pitcher. You've got to say _'specialis patefacio' _and put your right hand over the statue's heart. I don't know how it works—" he said, hastily considering. "I don't know whether you need to be recognized by the statue as having permission to go down there, or anything…" Remembering what he'd seen of Crouch, he added, "I don't think you do, though."

Snape was looking very grim. "Alright," he said in a low voice. "I don't have time to hear anything more; you've given me what I need for right now. You'll have to transform, go through the gate and run as fast as you can in the direction of the pond. Do you understand me? Run _as fast as you can_, and the Order will find you. They'll probably pick you up before you even get there, they'll come as soon as my Patronus reaches them."

Pettigrew was still baffled. "I don't understand!" He protested. He had expected some kind of explanation. "How did you know—?"

Snape raised a thin finger to his temple. "Your mind, Wormtail."

Pettigrew frowned. "You read minds—? But the Dark Lord—"

"Doesn't know, and won't find out. When you came to me in the library that day, I began to suspect. Then I saw it clearly when I found you outside the kitchens just now. I've heard something may be happening today, so there wasn't time to make sure I was right about you. But I knew then, and I know now, that I _am_ right." Snape's eyes were narrowed, focused on where he must've thought Pettigrew's face would be.

Pettigrew nodded weakly before remembering he couldn't be seen. "Y—yes, you're right…" he finally stammered.

Snape looked disdainful. "You're just lucky you haven't been around the Dark Lord very often—he is much more skilled at Legilimency than I. No matter how… _selfish_… your motivations may be, the Order happens to need you. Go now. Don't stop running—they'll pick you up in rat form. You won't need to do anything. I expect it will be Dumbledore who comes to get you. _Go!_"

Pettigrew threw himself into the transformation, shedding his invisibility as he did so, and shot out through the bars of the metal gate, his rat legs carrying him with surprising agility. Snape lost sight of him almost immediately.

He wanted to lean against the gate, to take a moment to think, but there wasn't a moment to spare. Any second, the Order of the Phoenix would be gleaning all manner of information, and Snape's mission had now solidified: _locate the hidden dungeon. K__eep watch on the passageway that leads to the dungeon. Decide the best strategic advantages for an escape from the location. Then, finally, get inside (hopefully accompanied by back-up of some kind by then) and get Potter out._

He wished heartily that he could have gotten more information out of Wormtail before the other wizard departed, but he knew what Dumbledore would have said. The traitor needed to be shepherded to safety for the sake of the information he carried.

The moment Snape had stepped through the front door of the Malfoy Manor, still invisible and thinking distractedly about what he'd learned, a few things hit him at once.

He had stepped forward into a wall of four or five Death Eaters, all of whom had him at wandpoint. A spell collided with his chest and he felt his Disallusionment Charm trickle away, leaving him visible, frozen as though Stunned. Then, before he had said a word, Bellatrix Lestrange had taken a lazy step forward, curling her own wand around a strand of her hair and watching Snape with a smile in her eyes.

"Hello, Severus," she said. Her eyes danced.

Snape was taking breaths of determined calm. "Bellatrix," he answered curtly.

"Been doing something outside, have you?" She inquired playfully.

"I've been sending an owl," Snape responded, knowing before he'd spoken how hollow his words sounded.

"Sending an owl," Bellatrix repeated in a sing song voice. Next to her, Barty Crouch Jr. leered, and Macnair smirked appreciatively. "What a nice story."

Bellatrix came forward, forcing Snape back against the closed front door at the tip of her wand. "I think the Dark Lord would be interested to know why you were sending an owl in_ disguise_," she hissed venomously. "That's right Snape, you thought you'd gotten by me? I heard you bump into something, you great fool. I pretended it was nothing, but I hid in the stairwell just out of sight."

Snape glared.

Bellatrix continued, smiling again. "That's when I saw you go through that door, but you were _invisible_, see. I just saw the door go fuzzy for a second. But I went to have another look through the window, and that's when I saw you kick a rock out of your way. I saw the thing flying across the path, and I knew there was somebody there."

Snape cursed Wormtail with all his strength. The stupid, blundering idiot had run into him from behind and then tripped—that must have been what Bellatrix had seen through the window.

He was staring down the wands of five vicious Death Eaters, all of whom now suspected him of involvement with Dumbledore. After all, who else was there to be in league with these days? Snape knew he'd been caught.

At the very least, it seemed as though Wormtail's disappearance through the gate had gone unnoticed. It was of little consolation to Snape now though, as he stared into the mad eyes beneath Bellatrix's hair.

"I think we'll have a little chat with the Dark Lord," Chimed Bellatrix happily, stabbing her wand into Snape's chest. "Go on, move."

The others parted, all of their wands on Snape. Snape could see no other option. He began to walk forward, every fiber in his body on alert.

******Author's Note-** Inertia: an analogous property of a force. Example: when an object starts moving downhill it gathers speed and its motion increases, greatening the force necessary to bring it to a stop. In physics this increasing build-up of motion is called inertia. In english, it's called "Oh crap, I can't slow down!")

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	7. Mad Eye's Mirror

**Chapter Seven**

**"Mad-Eye's Mirror"**

At 12 Grimmauld Place, things were in uproar. Sirius had never seen Dumbledore move as fast as he did when the Patronus' message came to an end.

"_Wormtail is on the rise," _the Patronus had said into the hushed silence of the darkened kitchen. It was code, and they all knew it. _"Malfoy Manor."_

Sirius was still staring transfixed at where the Patronus had faded when Dumbledore reached the door. The long haired wizard swept into the corridor without a backward glance and disappeared.

Sirius and Lupin both jumped to their feet on opposite sides of the table, causing it to wobble back and forth, leaving McGonagall and Hagrid sitting in stunned silence. They followed Dumbledore at a run, sprinting side by side down the gloomy hallway toward the front of the house, but as they reached it they knew Dumbledore had already departed.

Sirius leaned against the wall just to the inside of the front door, huffing.

Lupin took the opposite wall. "It'll be much faster, just Dumbledore, instead of us along for the ride," said Lupin finally, out of breath as well.

"Then why did you run?" Panted Sirius.

Lupin looked at him. "Why did _you?_"

The two of them lapsed into silence again, the only sound being the rise and fall of their breathing. They stood still, waiting for their heart rates to even out.

"Besides," Lupin continued after a prolonged quiet, "If he's gone to get Peter—" Sirius's scowl deepened—"then what use could we have been? This isn't a rescue. And don't you have a go at Peter," added Lupin, watching Sirius sternly. "The man's made a good choice, from the sound of it. He may be the one chance we have of saving Harry."

At this Sirius nodded, his arms falling to his sides, eyes bleak under his furrowed brow. Well, if he couldn't tell Wormtail how he really felt just yet, at least there was still Moody.

Mad-Eye Moody would be sure to greet Wormtail with suspicion bordering on criminality. The grizzled ex-Auror had arrived several hours ago, but had vanished into an upstairs room with some reflective instruments he'd told them all were 'scrying tools' and hadn't been seen since. Sirius wasn't particularly bothered by Moody's antisocial behavior. Moody had never been the best choice of company in a tight spot, however successful he may have been as a dark wizard catcher. As it was, the man had already accused at least three Order members of suspected Death Eater activity, and had told Sirius himself to "stay out of it." Moody seemed to be making no attempt at behaving more normally, so he remained the crankiest, most paranoid person most of them had ever known. The empty eye socket in which his magical eye usually dwelled did nothing to soften this effect.

Dumbledore kept insisting that they needed him, and nobody felt qualified to argue with Dumbledore, so the issue of Mad-Eye's hostility became a matter of passing inconvenience. They would all have to put up with him equally.

"Is it really so far fetched to assume another incident might occur at any moment?" Dumbledore had inquired of Sirius the last time he'd brought it up. "Look at what happened under our very noses, Sirius. The imposter avoided detection for an entire year inside the school. Quite remarkable, if I might say so… Yes, I think Alastor is wise not assume the circumstances unique."

Sirius had undeniably been prejudiced against Mad-Eye Moody ever since he'd overheard him telling Dumbledore it was possible that Harry and Cedric had played right into the hands of the Death Eaters, and should have seen it coming. Moody seemed to think there were bound to have been plenty of indicators along the way.

At this, Dumbledore had said, not unkindly, "Not all of us are capable of living in distrust from one minute to the next. I'm sure none of us could have prevented this from happening the way that it did… though we can always be more vigilant," he added politely.

"Well, trust'll get us all killed, won't it?" Moody had grunted, but he said nothing more to implicate carelessness on Harry's part.

Waiting there in the dark entry hall, Sirius couldn't help hoping Moody would give Wormtail the full Auror beat-down in the process of extracting information. The little rat deserved it, and worse…

He and Lupin had been taking turns flicking bits of carpet up into the chandelier, where they caught in the cobwebs and dangled eerily, sending shadows across the ceiling. Their faces were grim, their lips white, but both were determined not to speak until Dumbledore's return.

"Someone's coming," Sirius muttered to Lupin, and they turned to watch the corridor leading to the kitchen from where they could hear uneven footsteps.

A heavy _clunk _and a stomp. _Clunk,_ stomp. _Clunk,_ stomp. It was Mad-Eye Moody.

He limped into the faint wandlight issuing from Lupin's corner. His eye and his empty socket stared down at them; he was clutching his strange mirror and other assorted instruments in one hand.

"Where have you been, Mad-Eye?" Asked Lupin mildly.

"Upstairs scrying, like I said," Moody said shortly. He was brandishing his mirror. "When's this Pettigrew bloke getting here, then?"

"Well," said Lupin, exchanging a bemused look with Sirius, "I was going to say you've missed a lot, but it doesn't seem that you have."

"They should've gotten back already," Sirius said. "It'll be any moment, now…"

"I see you've been making yourselves useful," Moody growled, his eyes on the carpet pieces trailing across the ceiling. Neither of them said anything. "And you were a professor," he grumped disbelievingly. "Anyway, McGonagall said I'd probably find you lurking here. I wanted to show you something."

He bent down, holding his reflective tool extended toward Sirius, who stared at it without comprehension. "Take it, Black." Moody ordered. Sirius did as he was told.

The little mirror-like device was cold to the touch and oddly glassy for something made of metal. Sirius took it into his lap and stared down at his own shadowy confused expression. He looked back up at Moody.

"Look into it, boy, I know you're not completely thick," growled Moody in exasperation, as though Sirius was failing to grasp a very simple concept.

Irritated, Sirius looked down again at his reflection. Then—for a fraction of a second—he thought he'd seen the outline of some kind of big animal.

"What was that?" He asked Moody, his curiosity peaked.

"That," said Moody impressively, "Was your future. I've been looking into the matter. Dumbledore never told me you were an Animagus."

"Yeah," Sirius said, looking affronted. "That's because I don't want to go around bragging about, do I?" He glared. "You can tell that from"—he waved the mirror—"this thing?" The idea that Moody was capable of revealing his deepest secrets was highly disconcerting.

"No," said Moody. "I was only guessing. I've been trying to figure out its meaning for hours, could've been anything."

Sirius looked outraged, Lupin amused.

"Of course, it could be you," Moody shot at Lupin. "But it doesn't look like a werewolf to me. And now Black's confirmed my theory."

"How do you know this is showing my future?" Sirius snapped.

Moody snatched back the mirror and gazed deeply into it, speaking at the same time. "Because I've been scrying for anything concerning the outcome for the Potter boy. This keeps appearing. I think it means your ability to become an animal will come into play."

"Is that all you can tell me?" Sirius demanded, knowing he was being unnecessarily sharp, but he felt irritated that Moody had tricked him. He wanted to say, "This is what three hours of divination has got you?" But he resisted, mostly out of a respective awareness of Moody's tendency to curse people and objects for looking at him the wrong way.

But Lupin was sitting up straighter, looking very interested. "Are you sure?" Lupin said to Moody. "But if you're sure that Sirius can help us as a dog, it would mean Voldemort doesn't know he can transform, wouldn't it?"

Sirius looked disbelieving. He didn't think there was any chance Wormtail hadn't told Voldemort every detail he knew about Sirius.

"He's right," Moody growled at Sirius. "It's going to have to be you, there's no other explanation for it." He seemed to become very certain of it, very fast. "And if you're going undercover in your Animagus form, it means He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named doesn't know you can transform."

"Which means Peter never told him," said Lupin.

Sirius thought he was being asked to consider a whole lot all at once, based only on a smoky figure in a mirror. Lupin must have noticed the tense look on Sirius's face, because he said, "Nobody needs to jump to any conclusions. We'll know when Dumbledore gets back, either way. We're bound to get the truth out of Peter."

Sirius and Lupin were gazing distractedly at different parts of the floor when they heard the _crack_ of someone Apparating on the street outside number twelve. They got to their feet and waited quietly just to be certain, Moody hovering behind them—

And sure enough, they heard the clacking of Dumbledore's heeled boots on the front steps outside now accompanied by a second shuffling pair of feet. At that moment the front door swung open, and Sirius and Lupin stood back to allow them entry. Moody was lingering in the shadows at the back, his one eye glaring beadily at them all.

Dumbledore stepped over the threshold, his right hand holding firmly to Peter Pettigrew's shoulder. Wormtail looked absolutely terrified when he spotted Sirius and Lupin, who both stared at him with unfathomable expressions.

Then, without waiting to be told, Lupin turned on his heel, clapping Sirius on the back as he did so. "Let's go." Lupin led the way down the pitch black corridor, Sirius close on his heels. Then came Dumbledore, maintaining his grip on Wormtail, his light blue eyes alert, and Moody brought up the rear, his one eye boring a hole into the back of Wormtail's head, his wooden leg keeping an uneven rhythm against the floor.

Reaching the kitchen, they found McGonagall and Hagrid standing beside seats they had obviously just vacated.

"Professor Dumbledore!" Hagrid said loudly, sounding very relieved.

"We have a lot to discuss," said Dumbledore with a nod of gratitude to Hagrid and McGonagall as he steered Wormtail through the kitchen and into a small adjoining room. At the door, Dumbledore paused, pulling Wormtail to a momentary stop as well, and looked over his shoulder. "Alastor? If you wouldn't mind."

Moody shouldered his way roughly past Sirius and Lupin, and clanked over to follow Dumbledore through the door. Sirius watched them disappear, wondering if he would be permitted to follow. He glanced sideways; Lupin shook his head, looking pointedly at Sirius.

"What are you playing at?" Sirius asked resentfully.

"Do you want it to be as fast as possible?" Lupin demanded. "Do you want it to go as smoothly as it can?"

"Obviously, but what difference would it make if I'm—?"

"Dumbledore would have let us know if he wanted us in there," said Lupin firmly, but Sirius could tell he wasn't the only one starting to feel frustrated. They took seats across the rickety table from each other beside Hagrid and McGonagall, who seemed to have fallen into silent comas, interrupted by the return of Dumbledore. Now they were staring blankly at their mugs.

After a moment of inner debate, Sirius cleared his throat; everyone looked at him. "Mad-Eye's been telling us about that scrying he's been doing," He said. "He reckons Wormtail never told Voldemort I can transform." He went into a short description of what he'd seen in Moody's mirror, and Moody's interpretation.

McGonagall was frowning, her eyebrows one tense line across her forehead. "Those methods of divination are very abstract," she told them disapprovingly. "He says he's sure it's to do with Potter's rescue? From what I've heard, there's no way he could be certain. There's no way to tell with those silly things whether they're showing the past, present, or the future." McGonagall's distaste for the subject of divination was no secret.

But Lupin didn't look so sure. "He knew Peter was coming," he reminded Sirius. "That's not very abstract, is it?"

Sirius shook his head.

"I suppose there's no denying there have been wizards in the history of magic to scry successfully," McGonagall admitted reluctantly. "But the likelihood... I mean to say..." She left no one at the table in any doubt about how she felt about Mad-Eye Moody. Sirius didn't blame her—she was one of the three Moody had accused of being a possible Death Eater.

Sirius didn't say anything. He was in deep thought, thinking about everything Moody and Lupin had said.

**Much love!**


	8. Diversions Have Consequences

**Chapter Eight**

**"Diversions Have Consequences"**

Lucius Malfoy rounded a corner and almost stepped on a piece of bread, beside which sat a slice of cheese. He stared at it for a moment, frowning. Where was Wormtail, the filth? Why had he left Potter's bread in the hallway?

Malfoy snapped a finger, and a little house elf in a tea cozy appeared by his side. The elf looked much the worse for wear; his bat-like ears were tattered in places, and his fuzzy hair was patchy. "Master called?" He said timidly.

"Clean this up," Malfoy ordered, pointing to the bread and cheese on the floor. The elf's little head bobbed in a bow. "Then go to the west drawing room where you'll find the Dark Lord."

The elf trembled violently at this. "Wh-what is Zoogie to say to him, Master?"

"Tell him that I sent you. Wormtail has been neglecting his duties."

The elf bowed shakily again, picking up the bread and cheese in the same motion. Then, with a last fearful look up at Malfoy, he vanished.

Lord Voldemort was sitting at the head of a long table in the west drawing room. His long, thin fingertips were together in front of him, resting gently on the wooden surface beside his own wand, and Snape's wand, which looked as though it had been partially broken. His scarlet eyes were fixed unblinkingly on the opposite end of the table. Snape stood there, hands clasped behind his back. The rest of the Death Eaters who had escorted him from the entrance hall were sitting in high-backed chairs along the table, watching intently.

Voldemort's chilling gaze seemed to permeate the space between the two men. Snape felt his veins running cold.

"I confess myself surprised, Severus," Voldemort was saying, his tone striking shivers in all of them. "I expected nothing but loyalty from you."

"Bellatrix is mistaken, my Lord," said Snape for what must have been the fourth time, and Bellatrix hissed menacingly again. Voldemort's eyes narrowed still more.

"Bellatrix is telling me the truth," he said in a soft and dangerous voice. "And you, Severus, are lying."

Snape had to try once more. "I want nothing more than to serve you, my Lord"—

"_Silence!"_

Some of the Death Eaters jumped, but Snape did his best not to react.

"Do you know what Lord Voldemort does to those who choose to defy me in secret?"

Snape's nostrils flared. Nothing was occurring to him… what was there to say? He'd been found in the act.

Voldemort gave a small, evil smile. "Those individuals meet unfortunate fates, my friend. I do not tolerate treachery. Do you know why that is, Severus?" Without waiting for an answer which would not have come anyway, he continued icily, "That is because traitors cannot be trusted. Traitors are liars and thieves, and deserve much worse than death."

Snape's mind was in overdrive, but his face was calm.

"We want to see it happen," Bellatrix chimed in, not even bothering to conceal her glee. "My Lord, we want to watch you do it."

"I'm not going to be killing him."

The smile slid off Bellatrix's face. She looked as though she'd been slapped. She wasn't the only Death Eater who looked thoroughly taken aback by this. "Won't be—? But you said"—

"That a traitor deserves _worse than death_." Voldemort was looking at Snape now with sadistic enjoyment, tapping his fingertips together. "I think… one dementor will suffice?"

Snape could barely hide the sick feeling that suddenly overcame him. Voldemort was going to give him to a dementor, which would drain him of his soul. There was no worse imaginable fate.

Bellatrix let out a giggle of mirth, her face shining.

Voldemort held up a hand for silence-

He needed to get out of here—

"But not yet," Voldemort was murmuring to his audience of Death Eaters. "No, Severus can be of quite some use to us, I expect. Presumably you have inside information on the Order of the Phoenix?" He directed at Snape, who felt his teeth clench—so it wouldn't simply be the dementor's kiss; they were going to try to use him against Dumbledore first.

_Let them try,_ Snape thought savagely. _Now that Dumbledore has Wormtail, it's only a matter of time… _He was making no effort to shield himself from Voldemort's mind. He almost _wanted_ the Dark Lord to pick up on these thoughts.

Evidently, Voldemort was indeed in the process of doing exactly that. The sorcerer was frowning avidly, glaring with fresh viciousness, a question in his gleaming eyes. Snape wanted to smirk. _You'll have to find out on your own, _he thought deliberately.

At that exact moment, there was a crack that echoed through the spacious drawing room, and everyone seated at the table stared around in confusion. At first it seemed that there was no one there, but then Snape caught sight of a fuzzy head just above the edge of the table, bobbing toward Voldemort.

The little house elf was shaking from head to foot, clutching his dirty tea cozy in his hands and twisting it as he shuffled forward.

"My Lord," the elf squeaked, drawing level with the arm of Voldemort's chair and dropping into a bow so low that the tip of his nose touched the floor. He straightened up nervously, unable to look Voldemort in the eye. "Master Malfoy sent me, sir. He sent Zoogie to tell the Dark Lord, sir, that Wormtail is neglecting his duties, sir." The elf watched Voldemort frightfully.

But Voldemort's gaze flicked back up to Snape, his expression lethal. "Do know anything about this, Snape?" He asked threateningly.

"I don't keep track of rats," said Snape, no longer very concerned with appealing to Voldemort's better nature. It was clear there would be no talking his way out of this.

Voldemort turned back to the elf. "Go to your master and tell him to meet me in the dungeons. Then search this castle for Peter Pettigrew. When you find him, bring him to me here."

The elf nodded, immensely relieved at having been dismissed, and disappeared immediately.

Voldemort coldly returned his attention to Snape and the Death Eaters. "I had plans today," he told Snape acidly. "You've really gotten in my way." Then Voldemort rose gracefully to his feet. "Take him down," he said to Bellatrix, who was thrilled. "Use shackles on Potter, and put the _frenums _on this traitor." He gestured carelessly in Snape's direction. "Lucky for Potter, though not so much for you, Severus, I daresay…"

There were murmurings of amusement around the table.

"And if you think tonight's uncomfortable, we'll ask you again tomorrow night," said Bellatrix, very pleased.

Voldemort _tsked _softly, smiling, and lightly picked up his wand. With a glance at Snape's wand, he left it lying on the table, bent to the point of being broken. Snape felt a sharp jab in the small of his back—Bellatrix had moved behind him, and was urging him with her wand to step away from the table.

"Let's go, _professor_," she said sharply and joyfully.

As Snape walked ahead of Bellatrix and Voldemort out of the drawing room and down a flight of stairs, he couldn't help feeling pleased that he had, at least, succeeded in postponing whatever Voldemort had been planning to do that day, consequently buying time for the Order. Then the thought of the dementor looming in his future reoccurred to him, and drove away all his other thoughts.

Snape could hear a small procession of Death Eaters trailing along behind Voldemort and Bellatrix, but he didn't turn around to look. Bellatrix marched him at wandpoint through passage after passage, down two more stair cases. They went through a door in the wall masked by a spell which made it appear to be a carved stone bench until Voldemort performed the correct charm from behind them, and it revealed itself.

When they reached the corridor where this secret passageway came out, Snape noticed that the majority of Death Eaters seemed to know they weren't to come any further. By general consent, they began to disperse, heading up the corridor in the opposite direction from Bellatrix, Snape, and Voldemort. Barty Crouch, Jr. was the last to leave, and he seemed to do so much more reluctantly than any of the others.

Bellatrix prodded Snape again in the back, and they started walking again, deeper and deeper into the manor. Just when Snape was beginning to marvel at how far underground they must be, he stopped short, staring at a marble statue in his path. It depicted a handsome young man wearing a one-shouldered cloak, carrying what looked like a large water pitcher, which he was in the action of tipping out.

Bellatrix shoved Snape to the side and placed her wand hand against the statue's chest. She muttered something too quietly for Snape to make out, and then the wall behind the statue sprung into movement, lifting upward to reveal yet another hidden passageway. This passage had a very old, underground feeling. Plants were starting to grow through the cracks in the walls, and the floor was so slippery with moss that Snape had walk carefully to avoid falling. It took five very long minutes before they were finally emerging into a dark, stone floored room lit by torches along the walls. There were no windows anywhere through which to let in the light of day.

Snape stared around, fascinated. The room contained a few tables surrounded by benches, a counter by the opposite wall, and what could have been a storage cabinet reaching all the way to the ceiling. Snape's eyes fell on the far corner of the room, where he could see stairs descending into almost complete darkness.

They had stopped, and Snape looked around at Voldemort, wondering what they were doing. Then Lucius Malfoy walked through the same door they'd just entered, answering Snape's question.

"Ah, Lucius," said Voldemort lightly. "Your timely manner is of the utmost value to me, my loyal friend."

Malfoy's eyes were taking in Snape, who was still being covered by Bellatrix's wand, and his expression showed confusion.

"Snape has been caught consorting with a secret correspondent," Voldemort explained, and Malfoy raised an eyebrow with dawning comprehension. "I thought the _frenums_ would do nicely while we have him here. He can undoubtedly share some of what he knows about the Order with us, so I won't be handing him to the dementors just yet."

Malfoy was looking surprised, but deeply satisfied. "And what of Potter, my Lord?"

"Yes, unfortunately Potter will have to remain in the dungeon for another night. I am neither rash nor a fool. I want Wormtail in front of me, and I will find out everything this traitor has attempted to hide from me before we deal with the Potter boy. Lucius"—

"Yes, my Lord."

"Take this useless scum downstairs and shackle him in the _frenums, _but put Potter back where he was on the floor. He's still throwing off the effects of the _frenums_, I expect, so I don't think he'll be very difficult."

"Are you not coming down, my Lord?" Malfoy inquired.

"No, I won't be coming this time." Voldemort did not supply an explanation, so Malfoy didn't ask.

Bellatrix was staring from Malfoy to Voldemort, wearing a look of uncertain incredulity. Then, when Lucius approached them with his wand raised, her suspicions seemed to be confirmed. Her face twisted in anger. "I'm to hand him over?" She demanded of Voldemort, unable to restrain her explosive jealousy. "I caught him! My Lord," she added after a moment, "My Lord, I am your most loyal…your most faithful…I would do anything"—

"Thank you, Bellatrix. You may leave."

Bellatrix hovered on the spot for a moment, barely able to contain her fury as her mad eyes darted to each of them in turn. Voldemort watched her impassively; Bellatrix took one more second to dig her heel into the ground and grind her teeth together loudly before whirling and storming back out through the concealed passageway.

Voldemort smiled.

"Bellatrix is a disgrace," Malfoy said with a superior air. "She serves you well, my Lord, but I think Azkaban rendered her useless, the mad hag."

"The most I can say for Bellatrix Lestrange is that she elected to go to Azkaban, rather than renounce the old ways," said Voldemort softly.

This shut Malfoy up, and his cheeks flushed. He pointed his wand rather aggressively at Snape's face and gesticulated sharply with it. "Get moving!" He barked.

Glaring, Snape allowed himself to be pushed across the stone floor toward the dark stairwell.

Harry had been standing unsteadily against a pillar near the back of the dungeon when he'd felt a particularly sharp jab in his scar and heard voices floating down from upstairs. They were too quiet for him to tell who it was, but there were definitely several people—more people than had been down to visit Harry's prison thus far.

He listened as hard as he could, fighting the compulsion to leave the sanctuary of his hidden corner to be able to hear them more clearly. He could only assume time had gone by much more quickly than he'd thought, and he was nearing the point when a Death Eater would arrive to bring him up to see Voldemort. Why else would people be grouping upstairs?

Harry couldn't see a way of getting out of his own murder unless he could somehow make a mad dash for freedom when they came to bring him up... but he couldn't make himself believe it would work. It seemed too impossible.

He ran a dirty hand through his messy hair, trying to ignore the muscle pains in his legs as he stood behind the pillar, waiting. With each second, he felt his heart rate climb. He tried to picture what it would be like when they came to get him... what the scene would look like when he was brought before Voldemort. He wondered what it would be like to die... would he see his mom and dad? Or would everything just go black? Would he remember having lived? Or would he simply cease to exist, with no memory of anything at all...? He shivered, rubbing his hands up and down his arms in an attempt to get warm. Now that he was no longer being restrained by magical means, he wasn't sweating, and he felt very cold indeed. Bare feet and a wet floor did nothing to help, though he was still thankful they'd left him with his shirt.

Harry heard the talk upstairs cease, and he felt his whole body freeze in order to listen. Even his heart stood still—

He heard footsteps crossing the floor, dully echoing off the stones. Only one pair of footsteps—or was it two? No, there were definitely two different people…

He craned his neck, watching the dungeon entrance around his pillar, his heart stuck somewhere in his throat.

**Thank you so much everyone for your support!**


	9. Cell Mates

**Preetoaka Raven Potter Weasley : **Funny you should mention the Weasleys! Right before I posted Cell Mates I started writing them into Chapter Ten. They're on their way to Grimmauld as we speak ; )

**RenaKounelaki : **Thanks! Your encouragement makes it all worthwhile = )

**memory-flower :**

I love that you love my Voldemort. I feel like he is one of the hardest characters to write, and I'm so pleased that you're satisfied with my rendition.

**jogger **: Thanks for reading! Don't worry, there won't be any torture from which Harry can't easily recover, with Sirius' help. And by all means, DO keep holding out for that affection between the two of them; it may be slow in comin, but it's a' comin.

**Smileyfaceofevil **: Thanks! Stick with me and you'll find many more good chapters ; )

**js1408 **: You'll have to keep reading to find out how Draco comes into play = D

**I hope it lives up to your expectations! (You should expect the beginning of some Harry torment in this chapter!) It's going to be a rough couple days for Harry...**

**Chapter Nine**

**"Cell Mates"**

Harry could tell it was Lucius Malfoy by the time the door was unlocked. The man's long blond hair made him more recognizable by far than any of the other Death Eaters. And there was someone with him this time. Malfoy had his wand on a dark-haired stranger, moving him into the prison. Harry didn't dare lean any further out from behind his pillar to get a better look; he still felt rather weak, and his mind seemed to be moving more slowly than usual from being under magical constraint… but he wanted so badly to know who it was Malfoy had at wandpoint.

He leaned face- forward against the pillar, one hand gripping the vertical edge, and squinted tensely through the darkness at the two of them, wondering if they would hear his heart hammering in his chest—but Malfoy was preoccupied. He was extracting something from inside of his robes, and he kept his wand on the other man's back the whole time.

Harry saw a glinting, bluish light. His heart skipped a beat. He could only hope he wouldn't be wearing those chains again.

It didn't seem that he would. Malfoy was pushing the dark-haired man up against the wall, shackling his wrists to pegs above his head, seemingly determined to cuff the man so tightly that he couldn't move an inch from side to side. The other man didn't seem to be resisting, though his posture didn't convey defeat; Harry thought the man seemed rather unconcerned, whoever he might be, and his eyes seemed to be raking the shadows in Harry's direction. Harry pulled closer to the stone pillar, his heart thumping faster.

Then Malfoy finished securing the _frenums_, straightened up, and lit his wand. A shaft of light fell across his captive's shadowy figure, illuminating a hooked nose, pale skin, and shoulder length black hair.

Harry didn't believe it at first—it couldn't be. But he couldn't deny what his own eyes were seeing...

His mouth fell open as he stared in shock across the room at Professor Snape; amazingly, Snape was currently regarding the other man with supreme indifference as Malfoy directed his wandlight toward the back of the dungeon, wielding it from left to right, his eyes piercing the gloom.

Harry quickly withdrew behind the pillar, leaning his back against it and breathing as quietly as he could.

"Time to come out, Potter," Malfoy said in a quietly carrying voice.

Harry didn't move or make a sound. He heard Malfoy take a few steps in his direction, bringing him closer to Harry's pillar, his boots clicking softly on the floor.

"Don't waste any more of my time," called Malfoy, stepping closer still. "We're not playing games."

Harry, on the other hand, preferred to keep their little game of hide and seek going for as long as he could, because as far as he knew it would be closely succeeded by his own murder. He had no intention of making it any easier for anyone to take him anywhere. _But there's nowhere to go,_ he thought nervously, casting another glance behind him. He had, indeed, run out of dungeon in which to hide. He guessed that Malfoy was now maybe a dozen yards from his corner, steadily narrowing the gap.

_Click… click… click…_

Harry considered his choices: he could remain here until Malfoy discovered him, which would take all of about twenty more seconds. He could step out from behind the pillar and meet Malfoy, resulting in an unknown but surely horrible outcome. He could try for a desperate ambush attack on Malfoy… this last thought was more of a wish than an option. Harry wasn't stupid enough to take on an armed Death Eater with nothing but his fists.

_Ka-click, ka-click, ka-click, ka-click—_

Malfoy had taken the last few steps toward the back of the dungeon in haste, swinging his wand around to point directly at Harry, who was taken by surprise and lurched backward into the wall. Flattening against it, he stared at Malfoy through the eerie light of the wand, his eyes flashing with apprehensive defiance.

"Come out, come out, Potter," whispered Malfoy mockingly through lips that were curled in a sneer, his eyes glinting over his wand at Harry. "Be a good boy."

Malfoy was smiling as he took two more steps in Harry's direction, wand held aloft. "Incarcero!" Malfoy barked, and cords shot from the end of his wand to bind themselves tightly around Harry's wrists, tethering his arms behind his back. Harry overbalanced, letting out a gasp of anger and alarm, and would have fallen if Malfoy hadn't suddenly been there, gripping Harry's upper arm, wrenching him away from the wall—

Harry was supported entirely by Malfoy's grasp for a moment . He was being dragged across the floor without a chance to get his feet underneath him—and then his feet found the ground and he tried to slow their progress, bending at the waist under Malfoy's pressure, but to no avail. Malfoy was much bigger and stronger, and it was only a second before he had been overpowered again.

There was a sharp pain between Harry's shoulder blades where Malfoy's wand was digging in, and the man's other hand was shoving Harry forward by the nape of the neck, his fingers catching in Harry's hair to keep him tightly controlled. Harry stumbled, but Malfoy heaved him back up.

Harry couldn't bring himself to look over at Snape as they reached the front of the dungeon. His eyes on the ground, Harry could see they were now level with the pegs where the Death Eaters had tied him before, and Malfoy had stopped jostling him from behind. Harry realized Malfoy's hand had left the back of his neck; he glanced to the side and was about to turn and look when without warning, Malfoy's weight was bearing down on him.

Harry felt a kick to the back of his legs and they buckled; he crashed to his knees on the stones and bent forward, unable to use his arms to stop himself from falling, but Malfoy had knelt behind him and grabbed him by the hair on the back of his head again, viciously pulling him upright. Harry gasped as Malfoy kept pulling—now his neck and back were arched, his head drawn jarringly back against Malfoy's shoulder.

Malfoy stared triumphantly down at the Boy Who Lived, his eyes afire, both their chests heaving. Potter's wide, green eyes stared back, reflecting the light from the wand Malfoy held beside his flushed cheek. He had stopped struggling as hard, evidently recognizing defeat… Malfoy felt swelling pride and satisfaction. But he didn't want to relinquish his power over the boy quite so soon…

He used his wand to gently brush Harry's bangs away from the scar on his forehead. Harry shuddered at the touch. He felt the sting of the wandtip on his scar move in waves down its lightning shape. Then, Malfoy trailed the wand tip across Harry's brow, down his temple. He saw Potter cringe ever so slightly as he traced the wandtip down his jaw line, and his neck… over his collar bone…

Harry, exhaling angrily, recoiled, but Malfoy held him fast. The tip of his wand was starting to feel burningly hot against the skin of Harry's throat, and Harry tried to twist away from Malfoy's body again, gritting his teeth.

Snape was snarling something, but Harry didn't know what—his struggling seemed to have angered Malfoy, who was jerking him roughly back to his feet. Harry swung forward in an attempt to dodge away from Malfoy, but the tall, blond Death Eater was right behind him, and used Harry's momentum to throw the boy headlong into the stone wall.

Malfoy heard a crack when Potter's head hit the stone, and he watched the boy crumple to the floor. He lay there for a prolonged moment without moving, and Malfoy waited, his excitement at its peak, while Snape stood rigidly in his restraints.

Harry fought to lift himself onto his elbows. He could feel something warm and wet flowing freely down his temple past his eye. Shaking and feeling dazed, he met Malfoy's eyes.

"Are you tired of playing, Potter?" Malfoy asked breathlessly.

Harry managed to sit up. In his peripheral vision he could see Snape, no more than ten feet to his right, but despite knowing Snape was on Dumbledore's side, he still couldn't make himself look. He kept his eyes on Malfoy, pale and trembling, but mutinously defiant. "I'd rather play games with you here than upstairs with Voldemort," he whispered. He wondered if he might have a concussion.

Malfoy made a funny hissing sound from between his teeth. "So you _do _want to play with me, then? And you are _very _brave, Potter, to speak the Dark Lord's name…" he murmured.

"Not brave," Harry retorted, his voice furious but not as steady as he wished it was. "Just tired of people expecting me to talk about Voldemort like he's some kind of idol. I don't really see what's so great about having great ugly slits for a nose, and Lord in your name"—

"_Be quiet, Potter!"_ This hissed order came from Professor Snape.

Harry, effectively taken aback, stopped speaking, which was just as well, because Malfoy had begun to advance on him dangerously. "Get up, Potter," Malfoy commanded, poison dripping from his voice. Harry shifted against the wall, wondering if he was capable of standing—the last thing he wanted to do was to try, and fail. To look weak in front of Malfoy was something Harry wanted to avoid at any cost.

Malfoy took his hesitation as incompliance. With an aggressive flick of his wand, Malfoy had Harry in the air, his feet several inches off the ground. Malfoy flew forward, his hair whipping out behind him, and pinned Harry against the stone with one hand at his neck.

Malfoy's nose was mere inches away from Harry's. "I wouldn't speak of the Dark Lord that way," Malfoy growled, his hot breath washing over Harry's face and neck. Malfoy released the strangle hold and Harry spluttered and choked, his eyes streaming. Then, with absurd ease, Malfoy had seized Harry by the arms bound behind his back and flung him back to the floor, this time toward the middle of the room.

Harry landed roughly on his back between the pegs. Right before hitting the stones he felt the ropes binding his arms come loose and his hands sprang free from underneath him—his heart soared for an instant—and then Malfoy was on top of him, using his full weight to hold Harry immobile, yanking his arms up above his head where they were shackled to the pegs, just like before.

Harry kicked out in an attempt to dislodge Malfoy; his knees hit Malfoy's back with absolutely no effect. A moment later Malfoy had swung off him and bent over Harry's legs, throwing his weight down and applying shackles to them as well. By the time he was done with the bindings, Harry wasn't moving anymore.

After one last adjustment around Harry's feet, Malfoy rose with a gentle rustling of his black cloak. As he straightened the front of his robes, gazing down at Harry, a shaft of light dimly illuminated the excited expression in his eyes, and Harry felt a chill down his spine that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room. He looked back into Malfoy's piercing, gray eyes, wanting nothing more than to sink into the cracks between the stones and never be recovered.

"I would consider myself miraculously lucky, were I in your place, Potter," sneered Malfoy vehemently. Then, turning around, he threw a dark look in Snape's direction. "And you, Snape—I look forward to hearing your thoughts on those." He indicated the _frenums_. "I hear they are excruciating. Just ask Potter… though I daresay you'll know for yourself soon enough."

Snape's black eyes promised Malfoy hurt and pain, snapping with fury. He spat on the floor toward Malfoy's feet.

Malfoy laughed softly. "Until later, then," he said, and swept out of the dungeon, up the stairs out of sight.

Silence began to press painfully on their eardrums after a few minutes.

Harry was staring guardedly up at the low ceiling, his chest rising and falling rapidly with silent breathing. His head was pounding harshly from where he had hit the stone wall; he was fighting the impulse to turn and look toward Snape. He felt too ashamed, too ridiculous, lying sprawled there on the floor… but he could feel Snape's eyes burning into the side of his face…

"What's your condition, Potter?" Snape's abrupt voice demanded, making Harry jump. He frowned, finally turning to look; his head gave a particularly nasty throb as he did so.

Snape was indeed watching him, his expression unreadable. "Are you injured?" He snapped impatiently.

He shook his head no, feeling a fresh rivulet of blood trickle past his ear as he did so.

Snape looked neither relieved nor upset by this. Harry, who was feeling immensely tired, looked away from him, returning his gaze to the ceiling. He couldn't bring himself to question Snape… he was bewildered about what the professor might be doing here, but his head was throbbing, and the dungeon seemed cold and blurry around the edges…

Snape remained silent as well. Long minutes dragged by, and turned into long hours. Snape watched Harry drift off into a light, fitful sleep. The boy looked horrid—his black hair appeared dreaded, and his shirt was covered in dirt, and blood.

But Snape couldn't deny that Potter _was_ lucky. For now, he had been left here in the dungeon. Snape wondered what was happening about Wormtail, and how long it would take Dumbledore to organize the rescue. He felt a glimmer of shame—he'd rendered himself useless by being caught. Now there was one more thing for the Order to worry about, on top of getting the Potter boy out.


	10. Forward Leap

**Chapter Ten**

**"Forward Leap"**

Zoogie the house elf hurried from room to empty room, his round eyes searching dark corners and behind tapestries, up hidden passages, his long fingered hands wringing his tea cozy more and more frantically as time wore on. He began to sweat and tremble more violently as he left a secret room behind the library, finding himself back on the floor of the drawing room where Voldemort sat awaiting his return.

As Zoogie approached the drawing room door, he found it swinging slowly open. He stopped, now shaking so terribly that his tea cozy slipped off one shoulder.

"Come in." The high, cold voice of Lord Voldemort pierced through the open door and Zoogie reacted as though he'd been whipped. Flinching, he shuffled forward on unwilling limbs. He entered the room as one condemned, his ears laid flat against his head, his great bloodshot eyes staring forward in fear. He made his way slowly up the table to stand in front of Voldemort, still clutching his chest.

Voldemort was regarding Zoogie with cool displeasure. "Tell me, elf," he said coldly, in tones that nearly reduced Zoogie to tears, "why have you returned and not brought me the rat, Wormtail?"

"My—my Lord, Zoogie searched in every room, on every floor, Zoogie s—swears it, sir!" The elf stammered, his watering eyes set imploringly on the Dark Lord. "Wormtail is no—nowhere to be found, sir!"

Voldemort's slit-like nostrils flared as he fixed Zoogie with a deadly stare. At this, Zoogie seemed to crumple, and he went down to his knees, where he held his hands up before him, prostrating himself in a truly desperate way. "P—please, my Lord, do not punish Zoogie," the elf wheezed, tears spilling down his cheeks.

Voldemort seemed wholly unconcerned by the elf's obvious terror. He took his eyes off the cowering figure on the floor and swept over to the window, his robes whispering silkily behind him. His scarlet eyes searched what small amount of the property he could see from here; the front walk was just barely in view, but he had a clear view of the stone pillars at either end of the black metal gate. His nostrils still dilating, he narrowed his eyes, thinking deeply.

Zoogie the elf would have given everything he had (which wasn't much more than a blanket he had stolen from the Malfoy's cellar) to be able to hear what Voldemort was thinking. The Dark Lord stood at the window for what seemed like minutes, silently watching the front walk. Zoogie had half a mind to get back to his feet, his heart rate slowing now that Voldemort wasn't glaring down at him.

Then he saw Voldemort's shoulders straighten a little. The Dark Lord turned, his eyes open and gleaming. "He is not in the walls," Voldemort hissed, his eyes radiating fury. "He is gone. I have been a fool."

Zoogie, trembling, did not stand. Instead, he bent forward in a bow that brought his forehead down to the ground.

But instead of delivering the punishment that the elf expected, Voldemort had walked back to his chair at the head of the table and leaned over it, running a spidery hand over his smooth head, his face creased with anger. "Bring me your master," Voldemort hissed at the elf without looking at him. The Dark Lord would have dearly loved to kill the little vermin on the spot, but he needed Lucius Malfoy's arm. He would call an emergency gathering of all of his Death Eaters, and he had some questions for Severus Snape that couldn't wait any longer.

Zoogie vanished with a sharp _crack, _not waiting to be told twice. He was very lucky to have survived the delivery of such horrible news to the Dark Lord, and he was fully aware of it. Many house elves in the employ of the Malfoys had met their untimely fate at his hands in the days since the Dark Lord's return. The great sorcerer was rumored by the elves to see the murdering of creatures like them as good fun.

Zoogie found his master brooding in the kitchen above the secret dungeon, and told Malfoy what the Dark Lord had ordered, hoping he wouldn't be asked to accompany Malfoy back to the drawing room. Fortunately, Malfoy Disapparated without a single word.

Soon after that, Voldemort had pressed the tip of his wand to the Dark Mark on Malfoy's arm and the other Death Eaters began to Apparate into the corridor outside the drawing room and curiously enter, looking around. Voldemort stood at the head of the table, with Lucius Malfoy beside him. Malfoy looked grim; Voldemort was watching his followers come into the room with a cold, disconnected expression to disguise his anger.

All of the Death Eaters had responded to his summons—including the ten that Voldemort had retrieved from Azkaban so very soon after his own return. Voldemort's madly gleaming eyes rested on each of them as he gazed around the table. There was Avery, Nott, Crabbe, Goyle, the filthy werewolf Fenrir Greyback…Bellatrix, the Carrows, Macnair, Mulciber, Rookwood…all the Death Eaters stood around the table, their faces turned eagerly - though with some apprehension - upon Voldemort.

Voldemort told them all coldly of Wormtail's desertion. Most of them were muttering by the end of their leader's account, casting dark glances amongst themselves.

Malfoy spoke after Voldemort had finished. "Given the nature of some of the secrets this traitorous scum was privy to, we can expect Dumbledore to uncover some undesirable information in the near future."

"Yes. But when we find Wormtail, he will suffer greatly before he dies," Voldemort promised his Death Eaters, smiling cruelly.

They murmured their approval of this. Then Voldemort turned to Malfoy. "Take Bellatrix down to the dungeon. I want to see Snape and the boy—bring them both to me here."

There was the sound of creaking wood and Voldemort glanced back to see that Barty Crouch, Jr. had gotten to his feet and was fixing him with a beseeching gaze. "Please, my Lord," Crouch breathed, bending in a bow but keeping his eyes on Voldemort's face. "I beg you to let me be a part of this."

Voldemort stared at him with an expression of detached aversion to whatever Crouch wanted to say.

"I ask you, my Lord," Crouch continued, unabashed. "For the entire year, I held myself back; I let the Potter boy go unharmed, all for you, my Lord, I did it all for you. I only request to be of more assistance to you, when it comes to his fate."

Voldemort continued to survey him dispassionately for a long moment, and then finally gave a small nod. "You did me an invaluable service, Bartemius. And Lord Voldemort rewards his helpers. Lucius, take him as well."

Malfoy looked as though he was smelling something extremely foul. He certainly didn't want Crouch along, and judging by the scowls on most of the faces of the other Death Eaters, none of them did, either—though, on their parts, their resentment was probably due to jealousy more than anything else. Bellatrix, on the other hand, was fixing Malfoy with a frosty stare that plainly told him she didn't consider him to be "taking" her anywhere.

**IN THE DUNGEON...**

Snape stood with his spine flat against the stone wall, his arms shackled tightly above his head by the _frenums_ whose effects he could already feel. His disheveled hair lay in his eyes, which hadn't wandered very far from Harry Potter's still form in the middle of the floor. Snape's robes had been removed but they had left his shirt on him and—surprisingly—his boots as well. No doubt these had simply slipped their minds—and very lucky that it had, because Snape kept a small metal pin inside the lining of his left boot. It was magical, and could be used for a variety of things, lock-picking included.

But at that moment Snape could neither move his left nor his right hand, and he had resigned himself to the fact that he'd have to wait for someone to release one or the other before he could even consider this option. They were bound to do so at some point, if they planned on feeding him. Of course, there was the definite possibility that they were planning instead to question him quickly and then hand him to the dementors without giving him even this small opportunity. Snape ignored that prospect, trying instead to focus on potential routes out of the place in case Dumbledore was too slow in coming.

Potter's eyelids flickered, and his lips twitched in his sleep. He was having a dream. Snape was sure he heard the boy mutter something like, "No… Don't kill Cedric…"

Snape wasn't at all taken aback or confused about the meaning of this. He had no delusions about the Diggory boy; he'd known without a doubt the moment he'd been brought into the dungeon and Diggory was nowhere to be seen that the Death Eaters, or possibly even the Dark Lord himself, had already murdered him.

Watching Potter moving in his sleep, Snape's thoughts drifted with a sickly feeling of reminiscence to the first time he'd seen Lily Potter's son. He'd been expecting most of what he saw—James Potter, through and through. The same messy, black hair and light skin. But he remembered being stricken for a second by the eyes; they were exactly the same bright green as Lily's. He had then and did still hate himself for seeing Lily in the boy, for he hated the fact that she'd had a son with the arrogant Potter. So he never passed up an opportunity to express the bitterness he felt toward the Potters' son, however unrelated the boy may be to James's past misdeeds.

But looking at Potter now, Snape couldn't feel the usual upsurge of dislike that had been known to accompany sightings of the boy in the past.

His lip curled at his own ridiculous sentimentality. The things that being faced with one's own mortality could make a person think…

Potter was stirring now. It seemed the intensity of his dream was finally waking him, and he was coming to in an unpleasant way. In the midst of a strangled yell for help Snape saw Potter's eyes open, and he choked off his cry. His widening eyes stared around for several moments before catching sight of Snape. Snape could see the boy's cheeks go red from across the room.

Harry turned away from Snape and shut his eyes again, mortified, still alarmed by his nightmare. He could feel his heart beating a furious rhythm against his ribs as he tried to pretend he hadn't just acted like a complete fool in front of one of his least favorite people. He heartily wished he could wipe the sweat off his face before Snape saw how truly weak he was.

He didn't have time to think very hard about this humiliation however, for they heard a _crack_ a moment later, followed by a few more, and hurried footsteps. Harry's whole body went stiff with apprehension and his head whipped around so he could stare at the barred dungeon door.

"They know," Snape muttered, so quietly that Harry almost missed it, but there wasn't time to ask what it was they knew, because the silhouettes of three people had just appeared, all of them hastening down the stairwell. Harry and Snape watched them in tense silence.

Once through the door Harry could make out who their visitors were if he squinted hard. Malfoy was leading Bellatrix Lestrange and Barty Crouch, Jr. across the floor toward them. Harry's stomach did a kind of feeble flip as he looked at the furthest two. Bellatrix looked as evil as ever, but there was something about the way Crouch's eyes were glittering at him through the dark that really sent shivers down Harry's spine.

Malfoy held up an arm for the others to stop walking as they came up to Harry where he lay. The blond haired Death Eater was eyeing the two prisoners with vindictive pleasure written all over his pointed face. "Time to go and have a chat with the Dark Lord, Severus," he said to Snape in a mockingly polite tone. "He has some questions regarding your latest treachery."

"I'll talk with him," Snape spat, "I have some words for him as well."

"My, my, aren't you feeling fiery? And you, Potter," Malfoy turned back to gaze down at Harry, who stared right back. "You're to come along. Don't ask me why," he added, with a distinct sneer. "You're just a boy. Perhaps he wants you there as a means of persuasion for Professor Snape here... we can't be certain until we get there, can we?"

Harry snorted. "If you're hoping that torturing me will convince Snape—_Professor_ Snape—to tell you anything, you're wrong. He hates me."

Malfoy smiled a genuine smile that chilled Harry straight to the bone. "Well, then. Perhaps Severus will enjoy watching you have a round with the Dark Lord even more than we will, Potter."

Harry glared angrily up at Malfoy, but couldn't stop his stomach from sinking even lower. Crouch, who was still eyeing him from behind Malfoy's back, looked eager at this, and Bellatrix seemed quite contented to watch as well.

"If you have questions for me, ask _me_, Malfoy," Snape hissed furiously.

Ignoring this, Malfoy looked back at Bellatrix. "Get hold of Snape first. Give me the _frenums_, but first put him in these." He handed her another smaller set of cuffs, which she took with relish and headed across the dungeon to where Snape was pinned. Malfoy looked down at Harry. "I've got Potter."

After using a spell to release all the shackles, Malfoy took care to pull Harry to his feet by grabbing him painfully by the hair, making sure to jerk him up as roughly as possible. Less than five minutes later Harry found himself being steered forcefully across the floor with his hands cuffed behind him, once again being pushed forward by Lucius Malfoy, who was gripping his arms with iron fingers. Snape was right beside him, being shoved ahead by Bellatrix, who walked behind him grasping the collar of his shirt and pressing her wand firmly into the small of his back.

Barty Crouch, Jr. hovered behind them all, without a captive, though all of his focus was on one of them in particular. He watched Malfoy and Potter jealously as Malfoy pushed the boy through the open door and up the stairs. Snape and Potter kept bumping into each other due to the speed at which the two Death Eaters wanted them to walk, and Crouch kept up without complaint, his spirits soaring at his own success. It wouldn't be long now… the Dark Lord would surely let him have his go…

**NUMBER TWELVE, GRIMMAULD PLACE**

Dumbledore, Moody, and Wormtail had emerged from the private room off the kitchen and were now huddled around the table where sat McGonagall, Hagrid, Lupin, and Sirius. Dumbledore was giving them some very basic facts in a rushed voice, explaining his hurry by telling them Voldemort would realize at any moment that Wormtail had abandoned the Malfoy Manor, and when he did, it wouldn't be very long until they would all relocate, taking Harry and Cedric with them - though Dumbledore also told them in a somber voice that he highly doubted the latter had not already been killed, and Sirius had to agree with him. Voldemort would see no reason to keep a seventeen-year-old Hufflepuff alive. Harry, on the other hand, they suspected would be kept alive on principle, at least for a little while. Dumbledore expected Voldemort would want to find out as much about Harry as he could, drawing out the process before the inevitable moment of murder, for the enjoyment of toying with all those involved.

It also transpired that Peter Pettigrew had not told Voldemort anything about Sirius being an Animagus.

When Sirius heard this, he turned to Wormtail in grudging amazement. "Why not?" He demanded heatedly.

Wormtail had a great deal of difficulty meeting Sirius' eyes. "I—I never wanted to hurt anybody, Sirius," he managed, his jowls shaking.

"So you'll sell James and Lily to Voldemort, and their _son_, but you won't tell him our secrets?" Sirius had growled.

Wormtail cringed at the sound of Voldemort's name. "Sirius, I want to make up for it, I—"

"NOTHING COULD MAKE UP FOR WHAT YOU DID!" Sirius roared, standing and sending a mug of firewhisky flying.

Lupin leapt to his feet and reached across the table in a placating gesture, while Dumbledore quickly rounded the table toward Sirius, intending to place Sirius back in his chair if it was required. But Sirius regained control of himself, and Dumbledore came to a halt beside him, ready to intervene.

Sirius took steadying breaths, still gazing across at Wormtail with something akin to hatred. "If it were up to me," he seethed through his teeth, slowly and reluctantly lowering himself back into his chair, "I'd throw you straight back to the Death Eaters."

Wormtail quivered.

Dumbledore returned to his own place, keeping a stern gaze fixed in Sirius's direction as they resumed conversation. It was necessary to move as quickly as possible, so Dumbledore wanted to relay his partially formulated plan to the Order immediately.

Taking into account the fact that Voldemort didn't know about Sirius's ability to transform, Dumbledore was confident that it would be important to Harry's rescue. His plan stood so far as a series of assumptions and informed guesses, but the certainty with which he spoke delivered the message to the group in a reassuring way.

Sirius would need to get himself caught by the Death Eaters before nightfall. Once Sirius had been imprisoned (assuming, of course, that he would be held prisoner for at least a short amount of time rather than immediately killed) he could transform into a dog and find Harry (assuming, also, that he would be taken someplace near where Harry would be and not somewhere else entirely). Then he would use his special knife to get Harry free, and after that it would all depend on whether they could make it to the rooftop.

Dumbledore, Moody, and Lupin would be waiting just outside the gate, invisible, for the signal from the rooftop when Sirius had gotten Harry there in safety. The three of them would have broomsticks, and at the signal they would fly up to the roof. They wouldn't need an extra broom; once on the roof, Dumbledore would get to Harry and Disapparate with him, and once he had, the others would Disapparate as well, having been there to act as a guard in making sure Dumbledore got to Harry safely.

When Dumbledore finished telling them the plan, the kitchen was suddenly engulfed in a heavy silence. Dumbledore wanted to give them all a moment for it to sink in, but their time was limited.

Sirius and Lupin stared at each other from opposite sides of the table, their faces mirroring each other. No one else looked much happier, but no one looked as grim as Sirius.

Dumbledore was peering at Sirius too. "Are you ready to do this?" Dumbledore asked softly. "You have no obligation. You have every right to refuse."

Sirius clenched his fists. How dare he even—? "Of course I'm ready!" Sirius said sharply.

Dumbledore nodded gravely. He tossed something through the air to Sirius, which Sirius caught. It was a small knife with several pin-like attachments, and it was sheathed in a small casing on a thin, leather strap. "I'll put that on your arm when you're in dog form," said Dumbledore as Sirius examined the knife. "I know a spell that will disguise it whenever you're human. It will only be able to be seen or handled when you transform back into a dog."

Sirius nodded, white as a sheet. Then he thought of something else. "What about Harry's friends? Hermione? Ron?"

Dumbledore inclined his head. "Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger have been staying at Hogwarts with Nymphadora Tonks and a few other Order members, but it is my belief that they will be safest here at headquarters for the time being. They will be arriving tonight, with the rest of the Weasley family and Kingsley Shacklebolt."

"And Nymphadora Tonks?" Lupin asked Dumbledore; Sirius looked at him questioningly.

"Tonks won't be living here for any period of time, though she will undoubtedly be in and out, as will most members of the Order. Listen closely, none of this matters just now."

Twenty minutes later Sirius and Lupin were in the entrance hall once again, this time waiting to leave. Lupin was holding a Cleansweep in white-knuckled hands, and Sirius could feel the weight of the knife attached by the strap to his upper arm. Looking down at it, he could see nothing there.

McGonagall and Hagrid were there to see them off, and Sirius noticed that Wormtail had decided to stay hidden in the kitchen after the unintended outburst. Sirius felt a swelling of grim satisfaction. He heard Moody's wooden leg clanking against the floor before either Moody or Dumbledore came into sight, which happened only a moment later. Both were carrying brooms like Lupin and had dawned travelling cloaks.

Dumbledore drew near and brought them all closer together with outstretched arms, examining their faces closely. "Is there anything any of you wish to say before we go? Anything at all?"

The rest of them recognized this as an offer of empathy in case one or more of them did not return. They all shook their heads. Sirius, his resolve strengthening every second they waited, watched Dumbledore impatiently.

"Then let us take our leave," said Dumbledore. He pointed his wand at each of them in turn and they felt coldness trickling down their bodies as they became invisible. Then Dumbledore opened the door to Number Twelve, letting in the afternoon light, and stepped out onto the front stoop, turning his wand upon himself. There was only a loud _crack_ to indicate that he had Disapparated.

The others followed him one by one onto the stoop to Disapparate. Sirius was the last to go; before he stepped outside he glanced back over his shoulder at McGonagall and Hagrid.

"I'll be seeing you soon," he said to the two of them, knowing he couldn't be seen.

"Good luck," said McGonagall through tight lips.

"Get back safe, Sirius," said Hagrid, his beetle black eyes sparkling wetly. "And bring Harry back, won't you?"

Sirius took a deep breath, gazing at the pair of them, and then strode out through the door.

**Thank you!**


	11. In the Drawing Room

**Thank you so much, everyone, for your awesome reviews!**

**Chapter Eleven**

**"In the Drawing Room"**

Harry slipped a few times on the way up through the Malfoy Manor. The very poor traction was due to his bare feet, but Malfoy righted him every time, firmly keeping him up so that they would make faster progress. All Harry could do was stumble forward, more or less blind in the dimply lit corridors, with Snape at his side and three Death Eaters behind them for company.

None of them spoke as they trekked upward through the passages and empty halls. Their footsteps sounded dully all around them, echoing off the walls. Harry was wishing that he hadn't fallen asleep after being chained back to the floor—what if he'd missed his one and only chance to find out anything new from Snape? He had slept away his possible opportunity of gaining insight into their situation, and now he felt stupid for it. It must have been the concussion that had put his lights out…

His head was still throbbing, but no longer bleeding, and the blood covering his temple was dry. It seemed that Snape was physically sound, at least at a glance. Harry wondered with a burning curiosity what Snape could possibly have done to get himself discovered. It was surely something to do with he, Harry. He was certain of it.

It didn't look as though he was going to get his chance to ask though. They had arrived on a floor that was lit by shafts of sunlight flooding in through tall windows inset every five feet down the entire length of the corridor, which they walked all the way to the end of before Malfoy pulled Harry to a halt. They had come upon a door, and Malfoy was already releasing his hold on Harry and reaching for the door handle.

"Bellatrix, wait with them."

Bellatrix didn't answer, but she pushed her wand tip a little more sharply into Snape's back. Malfoy slipped through the door and closed it behind him, leaving the four of them in stillness. Harry, relieved to be free of Malfoy's grip, let his eyes dart inconspicuously around him. He was looking for any opening that would allow him to steal a wand and escape, or even better—steal two wands, and it would be Snape and him against the Death Eaters, improving their chances tenfold.

Harry wondered vaguely if these thoughts held any merit or whether he was delusional. Did they have any chance, really? But he knew that it didn't matter; he had to try for it, before the end…

If it had only been Bellatrix out here with them, he would have felt more inclined to make a run for it right then, but as it was, Crouch had stepped closer and was now about a yard from Harry, eyes fixed eagerly on him. Harry, a little taken aback, scowled insubmissively at him.

Crouch's eyes were taking in Harry as though he was a juicy treat, and he was drifting nearer. Harry realized Crouch was slowly narrowing the space between them.

"Where do I know you from?" Harry asked loudly, stepping back with the hope of diverting Crouch from continuing to close in.

Crouch grinned, and his eyes glinted. "Oh… we've met," he answered darkly, drawing nearer. Harry stepped back again without meaning to.

Crouch leered at him, his eyes laughing. "Don't be shy, Potter," he said grinningly, his face twisting. "I won't bite you. Not yet."

Harry's scowled deepened and his green eyes flashed defiantly, brightened by the sunlit window.

"Once the Dark Lord gives me a chance with you… Boy, you'll know what it really means to be powerless... Powerless as I've felt, at the hands of others."

"If you're guilty of what I know you were convicted of, Crouch," growled Snape from beside Bellatrix, who twisted her wand into his back, "Azkaban was every bit of what you had coming to you. In my opinion you got off easily, considering"—

"_Shut up!_ You have no idea what you're talking about," Crouch snarled, turning away from Harry for one second to glare daggers at Snape. "You have no idea how I have suffered." He took a breath and seemed to shudder with sudden feeling. "And how—how the Dark Lord has helped me overcome it all. You have _no idea. _And _you,_ Potter," he said in a still-breathless voice. "_You're_ going to help me…"

"Yeah," Harry snapped, feeling distinctly uncomfortable under Crouch's heavy gaze, "That'll happen."

Just then, the door swung open again and Malfoy had reappeared. "What's going on?" He demanded, staring at Crouch with contempt.

Neither Crouch nor Harry responded. Crouch had his wand on Harry. "I'll take him in," he said in a low growl to Malfoy.

Malfoy looked like he would have strongly objected to this, but after a glance over his shoulder through the open door, he apparently decided this was neither the time nor the place for such a conflict, so he nodded curtly, a tic going in his jaw. He stood back so that Crouch and Bellatrix could push their captives into the drawing room ahead of him. "Well, go on," Malfoy said sharply. "You wanted him, so don't stand here and drool now that you've got him."

Harry's eyes snapped at Crouch as the man covered the remaining distance between them, putting his wand to Harry's back and shoving him forward first by the shoulder, then by the nape of the neck like Malfoy had.

Right before Harry was pushed over the threshold and through the open door, Crouch's fingers tightened around the base of his neck and pulled him up short. Harry stopped walking, only to feel the man bump hard into him from behind, holding him inflexibly still so that Harry's bound arms were squeezed between Crouch's front and Harry's back. Crouch's breath was hot on his skin as he whispered something too quickly and quietly for anyone else to hear. "You'll know what it is I _really_ want in due time, Potter." Harry leaned away, disgusted, but Crouch had already shoved him forward into the drawing room, his wand lodged firmly in Harry's lower back. Harry was thankful, and moved into the room without resistance, preferring whatever the unknown place had to offer to whatever it was Crouch might be suggesting.

Only then did Harry catch sight of the scene they had entered into. He stopped dead for a second, staring at the table ahead of him. The faces of several dozen Death Eaters stared back at him, filling up every single space at the table, and a few of them stood leaning around the walls. Some of them he knew, like Macnair, who sat to the left of a man that looked suspiciously like Gregory Goyle. Others he had never seen before.

"Move, Potter," Crouch ordered, jabbing Harry in the back with his wand. Harry took another reluctant step toward the Death Eaters. He couldn't see any other option. Behind him, he heard the door click softly shut behind Bellatrix and Malfoy.

Crouch's wand tip pushed him toward the crowd. He walked stiffly forward, the hair on the back of his arms rising at the sudden pain that was searing through his head. He felt three dozen pairs of eyes on him at once, saw the familiar flick performed repeatedly from his eyes to his scar and back again. His scar seared, this time much more painfully, and it didn't stop; he squinted, staggering a little as he tried to blink through it.

Harry felt his whole head burning as he took a final lurching step toward the grinning Death Eaters, and then Crouch's hand grabbed a fistful of his shirt to stop him. He obliged gratefully, and felt Snape come to a halt beside him at the head of the long table opposite Voldemort.

Harry would have liked to peer at Snape, but Voldemort had just caught his eye, and new pain was spiking blindingly through his head. He was forced to shut his eyes against it for a second, though he tried hard not to. He made himself open them again, trying to disregard the ocean of Death Eaters in front of him, wishing he could reach up to his face and feel his head—make sure it wasn't really splitting open—

He was hardly aware that he had staggered sideways, or that Snape had moved as well to support Harry's sudden weight against his side, trying to lean him back upright.

He straightened up without looking at Snape and tried to breathe deeply, forcing some semblance of composure back into himself. He had a strong feeling he'd be dying as a result of this encounter, and he wanted to go out making his mother and father proud. He wanted to die as they had: standing up to Lord Voldemort.

**OUTSIDE THE MALFOY MANOR...**

Sirius Black hugged Dumbledore's Invisibility Cloak more tightly around his hunched shoulders as he approached the wrought iron gate protecting the Malfoy Manor. As the black metal spikes came into view, Sirius' thoughts raced and he went over and over the plan in his head.

All he needed to do was make the Death Eaters believe his was on a badly-thought through rescue attempt, and get himself captured by them as soon as possible. Dumbledore was sure Voldemort would have personally cast sensoring spells throughout the whole manor as well as out across every inch of property, so it would be a matter of Sirius being able to act as though he was simply ignorant, and on an irredeemably reckless mission to liberate Harry Potter.

If luck was on their side, Voldemort would assume Sirius was acting independently from the Order. After all, the Order would surely be clever enough to suspect sensoring spells—the most basic of property defensive magic. Dumbledore was banking on Sirius's reputation for being rash. If they were fortunate, this reputation would precede him into the Malfoy Manor, where it would be presumed he was Harry's foolhardy godfather who simply refused to wait for the go-ahead from those who may have been moving too slowly to get to his godson's aid.

Sirius paused for only a fraction of a second when he drew level with the gate. His thoughts continued to race over the plan as he hesitated a moment more—and then he was walking forward under the Cloak, pointing his wand toward the hedge on the side of the gate, and stepping through the solid, leafy wall without even causing a branch to flutter. He wanted to seem as though he was trying to be at least a little stealthy.

He came out on the inside of the Malfoy's property border, and looked around. He could see the neat walkway leading from the gate up to the front steps, which were framed by two lion shaped gargoyles. A many-plumed peacock wearing a solid gold collar strutted out from behind one of these, cocking its head in Sirius's direction as though it sensed someone's presence, and then bending down to peck supremely at the grass beneath its feet. Sirius shook his head at the nerve of some people with a lot of gold...

He wondered if the sensor spells had been tripped yet. He took a few more steps around the perimeter of the property, keeping near the inside of the hedge growth, his eyes on the manor's windows. He wondered with a pang whether Harry was behind any of those particular windows…

And then, so abruptly that Sirius came close to yelling out in surprise, he was surrounded on all sides by a great roaring noise as though he were standing on the inside of a dry, invisible waterfall. Winds lashed the sides of his face, whipping his hair into his eyes and tugging at his shirt; he raised his hands to block his eyes from the sting of his hair, trying to see what was happening.

After another moment of chaos, the rushing noise began to calm, now sounding less thunderous and more like a strong wind gusting. Sirius lowered his arms and stared around him, his heart hammering madly against his Adam's apple. There was no sign of what was causing the sound.

He reached a hand out and took a step—only to find that some unseen barrier was now preventing him from moving forward. The barrier felt cool against his hand.

Sirius took a step back the way he'd come and his hand found the barrier there, as well. It surrounded him in every direction; a small, cylindrical and invisible prison. The walls made everything beyond the enclosure appear somewhat hazy and distorted now that Sirius looked more closely, and he also felt something else…something that was pressing in on him from the sides of his confines; a pressure. He guessed it was a feature of the alarm system he had tripped, keeping him from being able to move with agility, weighing him down.

The sensoring spells had been even more advanced than Dumbledore had hoped; things were moving forward rapidly, and all he could do now was wait for a Death Eater to arrive and escort him back up to the manor.

_Or kill me,_ thought Sirius with trepidation. _But that would be useless for everybody... _He hoped with all his strength that they would be more inclined to find out why he had snuck onto their land, and whether he knew anything about the Order of the Phoenix, before killing him. What Sirius didn't know was that the state of things inside the manor was such that it was a very inconvenient time for Lord Voldemort to be receiving any new members of the Order as captives. He was rather busy at the moment.

Inside the manor in the drawing room on the seventh floor, Voldemort was walking slowly up the side of the table toward Harry and Snape, toying with both of them by trying to involve them in a conversation he was having with his Death Eater audience.

"And then he started to whimper, and I should have killed him right then, simply for the realization that he is worthless. Weeping, because he'd let slip some things his friends wouldn't approve of. Silly little boy, I always had the easiest time getting what I wanted out of him. It was boring, to tell you the truth."

Harry watched Voldemort, feeling nauseated. How could he stand here and listen silently while Voldemort talked about Wormtail's betrayal of his mom and dad as though it had been mildly amusing affair? While every single Death Eater watched with baited breath? He glared at them all.

"You're not so boring, are you, Harry?" Voldemort continued silkily. "Not at all, in fact, you're far more intriguing than I would have ever known after meeting you that second time. You remember, don't you? It was your first year at school."

"I remember," Harry said heatedly. "I remember I stopped you from stealing the Sorcerer's Stone. I remember I defeated you with my bare hands, without even a wand, you didn't forget about that, did you?"

Voldemort made a slashing movement with his wand, and Harry felt a white hot burn across his cheek as if he'd been slapped by the broad side of a hot metal blade. He reeled sideways toward Snape but straightened up hastily, gritting his teeth and ignoring the sting. He couldn't put his finger on why he would want to goad Voldemort further, but he didn't seem to be able to stop.

"Be careful with your manners for me, Harry," Voldemort said, his tone a little less light. "I don't think you're in any position to act the champion, however taken you are with playing the daring hero. You would do well to start behaving with the respect befitting a young man of your caliber."

"You think I'm fit to grovel at your feet then, do you? Like your Death Eater pals?"

Harry could practically feel Snape's quelling stare boring into the side of his head, but he couldn't ignore his own anger. This wizard murdered his parents, and would have murdered him, too—and now, he was finally going to get the chance to finish it off! Harry wouldn't be giving him any satisfaction to go along with this partial victory.

Voldemort, however, was not reacting to Harry's latest remark with the rage Harry had anticipated; indeed, Voldemort seemed to have enjoyed it immensely. "You see Harry, this is why I couldn't have you around," Voldemort murmured. "You simply do not"—he jabbed his wand and Harry lurched sideways again, this time pulled by a force which took him by the torso and hurled him far past Snape out onto the floor—"listen"— Harry rolled several times before coming to a stop, and tried to scramble hurriedly to his feet without the use of his arms—"to reason." Harry was on his feet, and had whirled to face Voldemort and the laughing Death Eaters again, but Voldemort had taken his wand off Harry to point it straight at Snape. "_Crucio!"_

Snape dropped to the floor, pitching and tossing where he lay, in what Harry knew was unimaginable agony. Horrible sounds escaped from between Snape's clenched teeth as he jerked violently against the floor, his eyes rolling back in his head—

Voldemort lifted his wand and Snape stopped jerking around. He rolled onto his side and tried to regain his feet, though when he did manage to stand, Harry could see Snape's face was a dim green color and his lips were stark white.

Voldemort's eyes gleamed as he turned his full attention to Snape. "That was nothing at all," he commented smoothly. The sorcerer took in Snape's pallid complexion. "I'm glad to see the _frenums_ have had such an effect in quite a short time, though. I expected that wearing them while standing would speed up the process, but I didn't realize how wonderfully much."

"Very clever of you," Snape spat, who, like Harry, now seemed to be having more difficulty censoring himself. "Using a weapon to weaken your enemy before dealing with him face to face."

Ignoring this, Voldemort spoke again, stepping ever so slowly toward Snape past his Death Eaters. "I have some very important questions for you, Severus," he said softly. "I need answers that I believe you can provide."

"Do your best," Snape challenged, with a glance in Harry's direction that almost went unnoticed. Harry recognized it as a clear warning. _Now, things are going to get bad._

"Where is Peter Pettigrew?" Voldemort stepped minutely closer to Snape, whose face remained blank.

"I have no idea."

Voldemort's face twisted with contempt. "Do not lie to me, Severus Snape! Tell me where he is! _Where has he gone_?"

Snape didn't reply.

"_CRUCIO!"_

Voldemort's curse hit Snape again, despite the fact that Snape had attempted a maneuver to one side. Snape fell to the floor again in the throes of the Cruciatus Curse, and Harry felt twinges of desperation. It was different when Voldemort wasn't torturing him, but rather someone right in front of him. He felt compelled to somehow intervene—but there was nothing he could do, and Snape was thrashing about down there, a trickle of blood running down his cheek from where his head must have hit the floor—"Stop!" Harry yelled, but no one paid him any attention.

Then the curse had lifted again and Snape was gasping, rolling onto his knees. This time, he had a noticeably harder time standing.

Voldemort was now about halfway down the length of the table. "Do you feel like talking with me yet, Severus?" Voldemort inquired. "Was that sufficient to loosen your tongue?"

Snape swayed a bit.

"I will ask you again. Where has Peter Pettigrew gone?" Voldemort's voice had lost its light air completely and sounded sharp, frustrated with Snape's lack of cooperation.

"You won't get anything from me," Snape said, meeting Voldemort's eyes with his own piercing, black ones. "There's nothing you can do"—

"_Iocus!" _Hissed Voldemort.

A black stretch of leathery fabric materialized out of thin air and bound itself tightly over Snape's mouth, fastening itself in a knot behind his head, gagging him. Snape looked surprised and furious; he growled and twisted his head, but no words were discernable, and the gag wouldn't budge.

With a satisfied smirk that warped his cruel, flat face, Voldemort turned away from the silenced Snape, back toward Harry. "If he doesn't want to talk, Harry, then we won't force him," Voldemort said softly, now approaching Harry, that sick smile back in place. "But you… you can perhaps help me, Harry… Shall we find out together how far Severus must be pushed before he will break?"

His wand was in the air again. Harry felt the bindings holding his arms behind his back release, and his arms sprang free. He wrenched them back around and held them in front of him instinctively before he had a chance to wonder why they'd come loose at all.

"Just to make it a little more fun," Voldemort explained, his voice lighter and crueler than ever. "For me," he clarified softly. Some of the watching Death Eaters laughed.

Now that he had his arms to use, Harry felt much more disposed to fight back. He stood lightly on his feet as Voldemort slowly gained on him, ready to jump or roll in either direction if he needed to. Voldemort watched this with amusement.

"By all means, make this as interesting as you please, Harry," he murmured.

Just then, a shockingly loud sound filled the room—it sounded as though the screeching of a hundred owls was mixing with the droning sound of thundering water, and the sound pulsed like a siren, making all the Death Eaters cringe in their seats and causing Harry to reach up and cover his ears with his newly freed hands.

Voldemort, his face distorting with hatred, pointed his wand at the ceiling, mad rage glittering in his eyes. The noise stopped, but all the Death Eaters were on their feet, looking at Voldemort as though expecting immediate instructions. "_Distractions!"_ Voldemort hissed ragefully.

Harry was slowly lowering his hands as Voldemort pointed his wand at the ceiling again, this time causing a crater-like black circle there. "I will kill whoever it is myself," Voldemort seethed, turning away from Harry and facing his followers, his gray face seeming to change with a new level fury. "MALFOY!"

The next second, Lucius Malfoy was bowing in front of Voldemort.

"_Bring the trespasser to me!"_

"Yes, my Lord, right away."

"Bellatrix!"

And there she was—

"Go with Lucius. If you have to incapacitate the intruder to move him, do it. _Do not hold back._ I already have a suspicion of who it may be, and if you need to, kill him without a second thought."

"Who is it, my Lord?' Bellatrix asked breathlessly.

"GO! _NOW!_"

Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange Disapparated within a split second of each other.

"Crouch!"

Crouch hurried around the table to where Voldemort was pacing angrily back and forth. "You and Macnair take the prisoners in there"—he gestured to an adjoining room with a long finger—"until I find out who has trespassed on our private land, and what they might be doing here. Once I do, every last one of these Mudbloods and blood traitors will find death at my wand!"

Crouch was looking as though he had never recieved an order that made him happier. Harry, on the other hand, felt his feet weighted to the floor. Facing Voldemort here in front of all these Death Eaters was a different matter than being in a room_..any_ room...with just Crouch_-_

"Move it, Potter!" Crouch barked, advancing threateningly on Harry. Over Crouch's shoulder Harry could see Macnair assuming control of Snape, who was still rather sweaty and pale behind his gag, and Voldemort with his back to them all, facing the tall window.

"Get on with it!" Crouch ordered Harry.

Harry didn't want to move. He stood rooted to the spot looking back at Crouch.

"Come on, Potter. If you walk for me, I won't put your cuffs back on," Crouch pressed, his face shining as he came closer.

Harry considered this offer. He certainly didn't want his hands tied behind his back again. "Alright, then," he said in a low voice. "Just don't come near me."

Crouch leered at him. "Go on, then," he said with obvious delight. Harry stepped away from the wall, looking around. Snape and Macnair were going through the door now, so Harry followed, keeping an eye peeled over his shoulder on Crouch. He felt the stares of many Death Eaters as they crossed the drawing room but he didn't take his eyes off Crouch as they approached the door where Macnair's cloak had just whipped out of sight.

**Please review = )**


	12. Crouch's Chance

**-Tyler-Blaise-:** I'm glad you're into the story! About your questions: some of the spells are taken from the HP books, such as _'Incarcero._' Others I invented. I based the invention of spells off an idea I got from the HP books: all the spells in the books are derived from Latin. So I just used Latin commands as spells. For example, the word _Iocus_ means 'to gag' in Latin.

**Chapter Twelve**

**"Crouch's Chance"**

One of the first things Snape noticed about the new room was how much lower the ceiling was. Hagrid would have been able to reach up and easily touch it. For another thing, the floor was stone again in contrast to the highly polished wood of the drawing room, but unlike the dungeon, there was no moss or moisture anywhere.

Macnair took Snape at wandpoint across the room to the only furnishing in the whole space: a long trestle table surrounded on two sides by wooden benches. On the opposite side of the room a golden grate was set up in front of a large fireplace that looked as though it had never been used. The rest of the room was completely bare, and the only door other than the one leading back into the drawing room was small and painted black.

Snape took a seat on the bench, his sharp eyes alert despite his ashen face, and watched Potter come through the door a few feet ahead of Crouch. Crouch had his wand on Potter, but Snape saw with a lurch of inspiration that Potter's hands had not been retied. Snape sat up a little straighter, thinking hard.

How could he communicate the message of what needed to be done? And would they get a chance, or would the Death Eaters be watching them too closely?

Potter had spotted him across the room, and with a backward glance at Crouch, was heading toward him, walking quickly.

Snape clenched his jaw beneath the gag covering his mouth, thinking furiously. He needed to calm his mind… it would be essential if he hoped to get into Potter's head, which looked unavoidable unless the gag were removed. And Potter… the boy was hardly subtle enough to be an easy receptor… he had probably never heard of Occlumency, let alone practiced it. This could prove difficult indeed…

But it could be their only opportunity, and the window could be closing fast. There was no telling how long they would be leaving Potter's hands unbound.

As Potter came up to the table, Snape tried to catch his eye without being obvious enough to catch the attention of Crouch or Macnair. Fortune seemed to be on their side for the moment though, because Crouch had caught up with Potter, given him a little shove into the bench to get him to sit, and then taken Macnair across the room to talk in whispers. Potter, having sat reluctantly, didn't seem to want to meet Snape's eyes, but finally looked up.

Snape locked eyes with him. He pictured his boot in his mind's eye clearly, as though it were suspended in midair between them. He saw its black outline and small silver buckle.

Potter looked confused. His gaze flickered but he didn't look away—Snape wondered what it must be like to have one's mind unexpectedly filled by pictures not of your own imaginings. He pictured the boot more clearly, sending it with force through their eye contact.

He saw Potter glance down at his boot, then back up. Snape nodded very slightly.

"I don't…" Potter began quietly.

_Be silent!_ Snape thought critically. Now, he focused his mind on the image of the magical silver pin that was concealed at this very moment inside the lining of his boot. He saw it solidly before him, and willed Potter to see it, too. Then Snape pictured the silver pin, inside the boot.

Apparently, his efforts were paying off. Though he felt queasy from the energy expended, Potter was looking down at his boot now with uncertain comprehension. Snape detected shivers of excitement in the boy at the realization of what Snape was trying to communicate.

Snape cast a subtle look behind him at the Death Eaters, who were still huddled in hushed conversation, then looked back at Potter with more urgency. _Now! _Snape kept picturing the images in his head, and jerked his head down toward his left boot.

Harry, his heart pounding to escape his chest, checked the Death Eaters over Snape's shoulder and then, with one more furtive look at Snape's face, quickly shifted so that Snape's body would shield him from view of the other side of the room and bent downward.

Snape was wearing black leather, calf-high boots, and Harry had only taken a moment to recognize them when the image had appeared in front of his eyes. Bent over double beside the bench in front of Snape, Harry's hands fumbled nervously on the slippery material. He was shaking so badly that using his fingers to search along the inside of the top seam of the boot became a nearly impossible task. He was trying to hurry, but that only made him tremble more violently. He took a deep breath, wanting to listen in case he heard the footsteps of approaching Death Eaters, and then he felt it.

It was a small, smooth lump on the inside hem. His breath hitching in his chest, Harry felt around it and tried to detect a way to get it loose. Luckily, it seemed not to be very tightly secured; after a moment of prodding, Harry felt it come off the leather and he closed his fingers around it, pulling it out the top of the boot.

He straightened up with it in his hand. Snape was looking very pleased indeed, and seemed to be trying to communicate again, but Harry didn't need further instructions; he knew what needed to be done. Without waiting another moment, Harry leaned forward and reached through the space under Snape's arm toward his tied, clenched hands and pressed the pin into his fist. Snape opened his hand to allow the pin to be pushed in, feeling for the first time as though they might actually stand a chance.

"OY! POTTER!"

Harry recoiled from Snape, drawing back his hand as though burned and standing, facing the furious Crouch.

"What in hell do you think you're doing?" Crouch yelled, advancing on Harry, spit flying from between his yellow teeth.

"Nothing!" Said Harry quickly, alarmed at Crouch's face as the Death Eater plowed forward. "I wasn't"—

"INCARCERO!" Crouch bellowed. Harry, having planted his feet the moment he heard the spell being uttered, did not lose his balance this time as his wrists were yanked behind his back and firmly tied, but it wouldn't have mattered because Crouch was already grabbing him by the arm, pulling him away from Snape. "Thought you'd take advantage of my kindness, did you, Potter?" Crouch growled, shoving Harry in front of him. "Thought you'd let dear Professor Snape out of his cuffs while we weren't looking, hmm?"

"I didn't"—

"Only because I _stopped _you_, _boy," Crouch barked, and he jerked Harry to a halt in the center of the room. "Get down!"

Harry wouldn't have bent his legs willingly, and Crouch seemed to know this, because the man didn't wait for compliance before delivering sharp kicks to the backs of Harry's knees. Harry went down hard, reminded horribly of his former encounter with Lucius Malfoy.

Crouch had turned him so that he could see Snape and Macnair over at the table. He tried to get a glimpse of Snape's hands… Was he using the pin? How long would it take? But the table was hiding Snape's arms, and then Crouch had circled around to stand in front of him, blocking Snape, Crouch, and the table from view.

"That was a bad move, Potter," Crouch said in a low snarl. "Very bad."

Harry said nothing.

Crouch chuckled. "Boy, say your prayers. You don't know how long I've been waiting for this," he breathed, looking down at Harry with something close to veneration. "How long I've wanted this."

Harry, stalling for time, made a gamble. "Is it the Quidditch World Cup? Is that where I know you from?" He asked keenly.

Crouch looked bored by this. "I saw you there," he said idly, twisting his wand between his fingers. "I wish you wouldn't dwell, Potter. It doesn't really matter where you know me from, does it?"

Harry sat back on his heels, leaning away from Crouch, who had stepped closer and was now holding his wand up to Harry's cheek.

"But then again," Crouch said, touching the wand lightly to Harry's skin. "It can't hurt for you to know, I suppose. The old man Dumbledore has found out, and you won't survive much longer anyway, so I don't think it'll make much difference…"

Harry, who couldn't tilt any further backward, drew in a breath of relief as Crouch lifted the wand and backed away for a moment, reaching inside his brown robes. A second later he had pulled his hand out again, and something appeared to be enclosed in his fist. Crouch set his eyes on Harry again, grinning broadly. "There you are, then."

He dropped something round and white onto the floor where it rolled toward Harry and came to a rest between his knees, but continued to spin up down, and around, with a light blue iris and a madly contracting pupil.

Harry let out a gasp and tried to move back, away from Mad-Eye Moody's magical eye which had fixed on him and didn't want to look away. "I—I don't get it"—he stammered, staring down at it in confusion and alarm. "That's—that's Professor Moody's"—

"Not anymore, it isn't," Crouch leered, thoroughly enjoying himself. "I'm keeping it, in case I ever lose an eye. Pretty, isn't it?"

Harry thought 'disturbing' might have been a better description. "So, you've got Professor Moody's eye…" he said, caring more for time than for the answer, though some measure of curiosity about Crouch did still register. "Have you killed him?"

"No, I haven't killed him. He never got around to very much teaching, though, so I don't know if 'professor' is really the appropriate term."

Harry frowned. "Moody taught me all year."

Crouch was smiling widely again. "No, Potter. I did."

Harry was silent.

Crouch nodded, enjoying the astounded look on Harry's face. "Yes, I've been helping the Dark Lord all year. If it weren't for me, you never would have been delivered to him, that night in the graveyard. The Dark Lord could never have returned." He breathed deeply through his nose.

Harry didn't believe it. He was frowning, staring up at Crouch, and his mind was in overdrive. Crouch was Moody? It didn't make sense…

"But Professor Moody went out of his way to help me all year," Harry argued, ignoring the rock in his stomach. "He—he gave me hints when I couldn't have done it"—

"Like I said, Potter, it's all because of me that you were delivered to the graveyard that night. I'd made the Cup into a Portkey. All I had to do was make sure you were far enough ahead of the others in points to go first into the maze, and it was fairly easy from there. I just had to get you to that Cup."

Harry was shaking his head, unwilling to accept it.

"And then when you took that Diggory boy with you, I worried whether the plan would be upset—but I was very glad to find out when I returned to the manor that it caused no disruption at all."

Harry was breathing shallowly. "So… so it was you, all along."

"It was a pleasure having you as a student, Harry," Crouch taunted, leering. "I had no idea it would be so...exciting."

Harry was starting to feel hot anger swelling in his chest. Everything that had happened was because of this man in front of him. He had caused it all.

"I'm tired of this little chat," said Crouch abruptly, and the gleam had returned to his eye.

"Voldemort won't like it if you do anything without asking him!" Harry blurted out, slightly desperate for more time; he didn't know what it was Crouch intended to do.

"Oh, I don't think he'll mind," Crouch replied in a low growl. "If I manage to get the right information out of the two of you, I'm fairly sure everything else will be forgiven." He had his wand pointed at Harry as he drew near again, forcing Harry to bend backward and sit on his heels once more. "Macnair!" Crouch barked suddenly, his wand about three inches from Harry's chest.

"Yeah?"

"Take Snape into the parlor and I'll be in to get you. I've decided I want to have a private talk with Potter here."

There were a few heartbeats of thumping silence. Severus Snape could feel blood rushing in his ears. His fingers were bent awkwardly around the metal pin, crushing it inside his fist.

"The Dark Lord"— Macnair began, but Crouch cut across him with feverish impatience.

"He won't object to me…_questioning_ the boy, not if I get what the Dark Lord needs from him! The Dark Lord has given me governance over him, I have the words directly from his mouth, and you heard him."

"He told you to go with Malfoy to the dungeon. He never said to"—

"_Do you think you know everything the Dark Lord has his faithful followers do?"_ Crouch demanded fervently. "We will not be punished, Macnair, you have my word."

Snape watched Macnair, hoping against hope that the taller Death Eater would decide it wasn't worth the risk to comply. To his dismay, Macnair was standing down. "I hope you know what you're doing," Macnair muttered, and pointed his wand at Snape, who stayed seated, rigid with furious displeasure. "Get up, Snape," ordered Macnair.

"And leave on that gag," added Crouch malevolently, watching them.

"UP!"

Snape didn't move. He glared up at Macnair and over at Crouch, his eyes snapping dangerously.

"He's not about to leave, Macnair, just get him out!"

Macnair thrust his wand at Snape, who found himself propelled into the air and dropped roughly onto his feet. He clamped his fingers around the pin. Macnair stabbed his wand painfully between Snape's shoulders, using a spell to shove the very disinclined Snape across the floor toward the single black door.

Snape heaved against the magic, pulling to no avail, and struggling not to leave the empty, unfurnished room. His grunts of enraged protest were barely audible through his gag. Just before the door sprang open at Macnair's command, Snape was able to catch a glimpse of Crouch standing before Potter, and Potter was on his knees watching Snape depart. Snape saw the look in Potter's eyes then.

He made a promise to himself, and to Potter. He'd get them out.

He just needed to do it soon.

**Y'all come back now!**


	13. AUTHOR ANNOUNCEMENT

(This only qualifies as a chapter in order to keep what I write on the page consistent with the scroll-down chapter selection button)

**Chapter Thirteen**

**"Call-out to HP Fanfic Lovers"**

I am currently advertising the need for one or more skilled and thoughtful beta readers to assist me in the coming chapters. (This is the advertisement, right here, right now.)

**PLEASE JUST SEND ME A MESSAGE OR POST A COMMENT IN THE REVIEW SECTION.** Either one of these will get you in touch with me.


	14. The Woes of Bartemius Crouch, Jr

**As a general warning, this chapter contains material that may be offensive to some readers.**

**Chapter Fourteen**

**"The Woes of Bartemius Crouch, Jr."**

When the small, black door closed behind Macnair and Snape it left them in a state of ringing silence. Macnair's spell on Snape had lifted, and they both seemed rather shocked at the turn things had taken. Then Macnair pointed with his wand, indicating that Snape should make his way to the back of the parlor. Snape complied, feeling the weight of the cold, metal pin like ice between his fingers. His wrists were bound so tightly that movement of his fingers was very difficult indeed, and he was working calmly at it the entire time he walked. This undertaking went unnoticed by Macnair, who stayed a distance away, lacking the confidence and blatant aggression of some of the others.

This room was possibly as different from the empty, stone room as it could possibly be. Two enormous, ceiling-high windows framed by purple velvet curtains shed filtered light onto a highly polished golden wood floor, in the center of which was a collection of ornately painted, decorated chairs and recliners circled around a wood-framed glass table. Snape and Macnair made their way to the side of this display, past several more small tables around which were more chairs, these much plainer. They approached the back of the room; Macnair steered him deliberately past the windows, holding his wand in a way that clearly warned Snape against trying to escape through them.

Macnair had him stand against the wall at the back of the parlor, and he himself stood in front of the window where he vigilantly assumed a guard-like stance, wand at the ready. With his back to the wall Snape continued maneuvering the pin on the inside of his fists while at the same time focusing his mind, calming his agitated thoughts until not a ripple disturbed the inner sanctum. He turned his eyes in the direction of his attentions, hoping to increase his receptivity to Crouch's mind. He needed to attain receptivity while getting loose from the restraints, anticipating that he could somehow influence the rogue Death Eater's mind if need be, but at the very least in the hopes that he would be able to see what was going on, though he feared he knew.

On autopilot, Snape finally succeeded in moving the pin to the base of his hands between his two wrists. His eyes were fixed on the little black door as he continued working at it, and his mind was now elsewhere, reaching toward the youngest of the Crouches.

At first Snape saw and felt nothing, but it wasn't long before he found Crouch's mind; they were more than near enough to each other to allow for a strong Legilimentic connection, and soon Snape was picking up on shapes and sounds. The potions professor was much more skilled at Legilimency than the average witch or wizard, better even than most scholars of the fine art, and his talent lay in the ability to translate what he found in the minds of others into coherent thoughts, pictures and sounds; more or less, at his best Snape was able to see through the eyes of those around him. Now, he locked tightly onto Crouch, being careful not to be at all intrusive… hoping that if it ever came to that, he would have the strength when already, the effort of simply initiating the link was drawing on his strength.

Snape saw Potter on the floor looking back at him. He seemed unhurt thus far, but Snape could feel the excited, malicious intent that surged through Crouch's consciousness, and Snape knew he had been right. It was not the first time he had heard Potter mentioned among the Death Eaters as an object of sexual desire, and throughout the boy's captivity it had been something Snape feared would come into play, but now he could feel with painful clarity how right he had been. A muscle twitched in Snape's jaw and for a moment it was difficult to maintain a flawlessly peaceful mind but he steadied the connection, setting his teeth. His head pulsed and sweat shone on his forehead but he stood still as a statue except for his fingers, which were working imperceptibly behind his back.

**IN THE NEXT ROOM...**

"Alone at last, Potter," growled Crouch, staring down his wand at Harry, whose knees were beginning to feel sore and bruised. "I can't say I expected it to happen so soon, but I'm glad."

_That makes one of us…_ thought Harry.

"I've had so long," continued Crouch, reveling, "So much time in which to come up with ways to help the Dark Lord. I have thought away hours on end while I dreamed of my ultimate redemption. And now here you are right in front of me, and it couldn't be easier." Grinning, his eyes strayed down Harry's face. "You're still feeling the _frenums, _no doubt?"

Harry stayed silent, keeping his expression blank.

Crouch chuckled, and raised his wand slightly to point toward the base of Harry's throat. Harry caught his breath, glancing warily between the wand and Crouch's face. "It can't be pleasant, having gone through what you have in these last few days, I'm sure." Harry gritted his teeth. "But you should remember what each of us has been forced to endure on _your_ account. Those years, after you thwarted the Dark Lord—the first and_ last_ time that it will ever occur, be assured—in those years every last one of the Dark Lord's followers suffered persecution and imprisonment unless they were lucky or clever enough to dodge the Ministry… or unless they were killed." Crouch's gaze turned dark and bitter; his wand pressed harder into Harry's throat. "Do you know the name Charles Mulciber?"

Harry clenched his jaw, leaning away from the sharp point of Crouch's wand, and glared up at the man. "No," he ground out reluctantly.

"Didn't think so. Why would you? A sheltered Muggle lover like you… Mulciber was my first friend among the Death Eaters. He was my brother. He brought me into the ranks of the followers of the Dark Lord, he mentored me, and taught me the old ways. I was indebted to him in a way that none of the others—least of all _you_, Potter—could ever understand. I owe my life to him—and of course, to the Dark Lord, without whom I would be as worthless now as your mother was, her whole short life."

Harry felt a violent flare of rage. "Watch who's talking, Crouch," he snarled, involuntarily rocking forward on his knees into the point of Crouch's wand. Leaning closer above him Crouch used his wand to force the boy so far back that for a moment Harry thought he might lose his balance; he had to use his bound hands behind him on the floor for support.

"Temper, Potter." Crouch towered above him, and Harry could smell a faint body odor on his brown jacket. Finally Crouch let up, though he kept his wand touching lightly to Harry's chest. "And you, Potter... Because of you, Mulciber was killed. He had only about a week after that night in Godric's Hollow. They found him in hiding, they killed him. No fair trial, no chance to surrender, he was just dead. A month later, I was in a cell…" A ghostly, hollow look overcame him, and Harry felt the wand tip ease up as Crouch's mind was lost for a moment within his memory of Azkaban. Harry remained as still as he could.

"Everything that happened was because of you, Potter," Crouch was murmuring. "You, and your filthy Mudblood mother—"

"Glad she wasn't blessed with _your_ blood!" Spat Harry furiously, unable to stop himself. "You're the scum groveling for Voldemort—!"

In one flash of a movement Crouch had stowed his wand and backhanded Harry with all the strength he had. His knuckles hit Harry's temple and the boy crashed backward, landing hard on the stone floor with a yell. Harry rolled instinctively, feeling the side of his head go numb; his bound arms hindered him but he was still able to scramble to his feet with the quickness of his Seeker heritage. He whirled to face Crouch and another blow connected with the other side of his head; white lights popped in Harry's vision as he went down for a second time, grunting as he caught himself against the floor with his shoulder, trying to go into another roll. But this time he was disoriented when he hit the floor, and he was all legs on impact. He came to an unceremonious stop and struggled back to his knees, swaying dangerously for an instant and trying to blink away the fading lights.

Harry got up to his feet, noticing that the room seemed to bend slightly as though he were dizzy from having spun around for several turns. The man had not held back, despite the fact that he had about sixty pounds on Harry, who now tried to force the hot pounding in his head to the back of his mind.

"Careful, Potter," Crouch mocked, coming around so that they faced each other once more in the middle of the dark, gray room.

Despite himself, Harry lurched back a few steps as Crouch came at him again with fists ready. As Crouch swung for Harry the boy dropped and ducked beneath the Death Eater's arms, noticing more than ever the difference in his agility after the _frenums_ and without the use of his arms. Moving hastily, he twisted around to face Crouch as he straightened up, continuing to walk backward across the stone floor, away from the taller man.

Crouch watched him and licked his lips. "Go on, Harry. Go ahead, try to get out of here."

Harry, without taking his eyes off Crouch, backed slowly toward the wall in which the small black door was set. Even before he reached it he knew it was sealed because Crouch wasn't stopping him. With hands tied behind his back, Harry grasped the door handle and pulled as hard as he could; it was locked tight. His chest heaving, Harry trotted further along the wall, heading for the fireplace. _Flu powder?_ But there was no little bowl full of the familiar, ash-like powder on the hearth or anywhere else. Harry hadn't expected there to be any. He slowed to a halt, breathing hard, and his eyes darted over toward the drawing room door.

Crouch sneered, his eyes taking in Harry's plight with growing anticipation. "Going to head out through the drawing room, are you?" He taunted, "I wonder if any of the dozens of Death Eaters between here and freedom will notice you among them." He laughed gratingly. "No, Potter, you're not going anywhere. You're with me now. I've got some questions that you're going to answer for me."

Harry shook his head slightly. "Not going to happen," he said with a brave attempt at nonchalance. "I don't know anything."

Crouch threw his head back in another peal of harsh laughter. "Aaah…well, that remains to be seen, I think," he said, his amusement trailing slowly away as he regarded Harry darkly across the twenty or so yards between them.

Harry felt a shiver run down his spine under Crouch's scrutinizing gaze. He shifted his weight, glancing nervously away and then back again despite his angry facade.

Crouch's eyes exuded excitement. "We've all heard of your valor, Potter," he said. He had taken his wand back out and was twiddling it idly between his fingers as he watched Harry. "See, I don't necessarily think pain is the only tool worth using, when you can get an equal or better effect by some other method." Crouch lifted his penetrating gaze and took a few strides toward the big trestle table opposite where Harry now stood, pointing his wand toward it with a murmured spell.

Harry saw sleek, black ropes spring up out of the pitted wood, falling into still coils on each end of the table. He felt his stomach drop a few more inches as he glared across the room at Crouch's profile, eyes wide. The blond man gave the coils a few fond strokes, and they seemed to respond to the contact, curling up like snakes. Crouch wasn't smiling, but when his eyes found Harry again there was a mad joy that sparkled in their hazel depths. "Don't worry, Potter," he growled, the corners of his mouth twitching. "We won't use these unless we have no other choice."

Harry gave a small snort. "That's fantastic."

Crouch ignored him. "It's been such a long time… There are so many different ways to do it, I'm almost at a loss for where to begin." The eagerness was evident in his voice as Harry edged along the wall past the gated fireplace. The distance between them was now Harry's only card to play. Still breathing rather heavily, his eyes darted along the walls, the floor, and the hearth in search of anything that he could use on his arm bindings. But the room was bare of all furnishings—not even a torch bracket hung on the walls—and not for the first time Harry felt an unwelcome wave of futility.

"But think of how the Dark Lord will reward me, when I deliver the information you provide," Crouch was saying. "There will be no going back. I will be his most trusted, the Dark Lord's best and only second—the one responsible for _crushing_ the Order of the Phoenix..."

Harry frowned. _The Order of the Phoenix?_

"And not only that," Crouch carried on in a low voice, "You don't know how it's been for me, boy." He gesticulated with his wand. "Waiting, all this time, watching you from a distance. It's been driving me mad. When all I've wanted… from the first time I laid eyes on that famous face…" Harry shivered again as Crouch's eyes raked him. "And now the time is finally here, and I couldn't be readier."

It was almost too easy. Crouch knew _exactly_ how to break the boy, and retrieve the information in the process. It would be far too simple, not to mention highly enjoyable and long awaited. Looking him over, Crouch took in Harry's appearance, noting the flush in Harry's cheeks and the beads of sweat just above his collar bone, reflecting the light as he breathed; the way his shirt clung to his lightly muscled body and how those enchanting eyes were framed messily by his jet black hair… the glimmer in his eyes, the color of which Crouch could see from where he stood. The man felt anticipation building in him. The boy's eyes were electrifying; so inviting, so appealingly soft and effeminate… Crouch lingered hungrily, holding the gaze...

Potter's self-conscious reaction to Crouch's examination was too perfect. He as good as squirmed as Crouch's stare reached his midsection, and drifted lower. A chill of exhileration ran through Crouch, spreading into his gut and chest until his very fingers and toes were tingling. He didn't have to wonder why each and every Death Eater had remained in the castle after the night Potter was captured, just to catch a glimpse of the boy.

Harry tensed where he stood when he saw Crouch raise his wand back into the air. "Where are the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix?" Demanded Crouch abruptly, taking one step nearer and holding his wand aloft.

A little taken aback, Harry hesitated, frowning.

He saw the shadows under Crouch's brows darken as the man narrowed his eyes. "Don't be shy, Potter," he growled, taking a few more steps across the center of the room. "Answer the question."

"Look," said Harry in frustration, "I don't know about any Order of the Phoenix, ok?"

Crouch smiled. He seemed to have heard what he wanted to hear. "Ok," said Crouch, and the tone in his voice made the hairs on Harry's neck prickle.

**Thank you dolls!**


	15. Twisted

**Thank you all for your wonderful support of this story! As a side-note, the warnings from the last chapter apply here as well. (This chapter contains material that may be offensive to some readers.)**

**Chapter Fifteen**

**"Twisted"**

Harry squared his shoulders to his aggressor, sensing the building energy in the air and wanting to be prepared. Next moment Crouch had barked a sudden spell, pointing his wand at Harry and sending a jet of purple light toward the boy across the empty room.

Without thinking Harry lunged to the side and the spell missed him, instead hitting the rock wall behind him and showering him in chalky debris. Harry let his momentum carry him all the way back to his feet and kept running. There was about a stone's throw between him and the table—regardless of those ropes, it was the only thing that stood out in the naked room; maybe he could somehow use it for protection—

Another curse came streaking through the air; Harry just barely dodged it, tripping over his own feet at the last instant and crashing to the floor again. A spell hit the wall just above him as he came back to his feet, and this time Harry had to close his eyes against sharp fragments of hot stone that bit into his face and neck as he hurtled through the ensuing cloud of dust; he kept moving forward with eyes momentarily shut, instinct guiding him in the right direction, not even aware that his wrists were now bleeding around their thin, leather bindings. But despite Harry's fierce determination, he was briefly unable to see Crouch; the man leveled his wand for the fourth time, a cruel smile twisting his lips.

The spell struck Harry, and he pitched forward with his ankles suddenly bound together, barely refraining from shouting. The tumble brought him back to his knees but he couldn't stand—the cords were painfully tight around his lower legs, and a second later Crouch had appeared in front of him, his body so near that everything beyond the tall Death Eater was blocked from sight; if Harry's hands had been free, it would have been so easy to pluck the wand from where it now hung on Crouch's belt—

Before Harry could speak or make a move Crouch had reached down and seized him by the collar, jerking him to his feet and pulling him around, shoving him roughly up against the wall. Crouch pushed harder, pinning Harry back against the stone by the shoulders of his dirty white shirt. Harry turned his face away as Crouch's breath washed over him.

"You really don't feel like talking?" Crouch growled, letting go one of Harry's shoulders only to grasp the boy under the chin, forcing him to face frontward.

"I'm telling you the truth—" panted Harry, and there was still a definite note of anger in his breathless voice. "I don't know anything!" Crouch's face was so close. "I've never heard of it, I don't—I don't know what it is, alright?"

Crouch gripped Harry under the chin for a few more seconds, and Harry felt another cold chill seize his body at the glint he saw in the Death Eater's eyes, so close to his own. After another few loaded moments of tense silence Crouch released his iron hold under Harry's jaw and drew a few inches back; Harry wrenched away from him, turning his face from Crouch with a glimmer of faint relief that did not measure up to the deep foreboding in his chest.

Crouch still had a hold on the shoulder of Harry's shirt, but he let this go, too, and Harry was temporarily unrestrained but for Crouch's proximity—he hesitated, thoughts tumbling chaotically through his mind.

Crouch extended one arm, straightening it against the wall beside Harry's shoulder and leaning forward against it. Impulsively, Harry flattened back against the wall; his choices had now slimmed, and he could only escape to one side, but not downward because Crouch's bulk blocked him effectively.

Then Crouch's free hand had come up, and without pause he was touching the side of Harry's face, cupping it; he let his fingers slide along Harry's cheek, caressing down his neck.

Harry's eyes widened at the realization of Crouch's intent and he let out a furious protest, recoiling sideways into Crouch's other arm, then started to duck down and away but Crouch caught hold of him by the throat yet again and pressed him back to the wall, stopping just short of fully cutting off Harry's supply of air; however Harry was rendered essentially helpless by the clear threat of his doing just so.

"Has Pettigrew defected?" Crouch murmured, using his free hand to grab ahold of a handful of the bottom of Harry shirt.

Harry choked, struggling to breathe.

Crouch loosened the strangle hold slightly. "Has he gone over to Dumbledore? Joined the Order?" Crouch yanked Harry's shirt, popping the bottom few buttons out of the fabric and flipping the material to the side, and continuing to pull it hard until the garment came mostly open.

"What're you—what're you doing—? What-?" Harry fought Crouch as the man finished with the shirt buttons and made to pull the garment over Harry's shoulders. "Get off!"

Crouch roughly tugged the shirt off Harry's shoulders, jerking him a little away from the wall in order to pull it hard down Harry's arms until it was hanging loosely over the boy's lower arm bindings between his naked back and the stone wall, and Crouch could take it no further without removing those cords. Harry struggled rigidly, but in his weakened state he was no match for his much bulkier opponent. Crouch's hand at Harry's throat pressed in more viciously when Harry gave a particularly violent struggle, forcing him to temporarily cease, at least long enough for Crouch to allow him to take a few more breaths—

And then Crouch had let up his grasp the smallest bit, but the hand stayed where it was as the tall, blond man tilted his head, leaning in toward the side of Harry's neck. His eyes flicked along the boy's face and jawline, his bare shoulder; Harry strained away, still fighting to draw breath through the choke hold.

For one scarce second it seemed like Crouch would incline his head until he touched the curve of Harry's neck, but the man stopped about half an inch from Harry, and breathed in deeply through his nose as though to taste a scent in Harry's hair. The boy shuddered, suddenly feeling cold sweat beading on his skin. He gritted his teeth so hard his whole jaw ached, still trying to twist away. "Get off me!" Harry said again, his voice cracking, knowing his struggles were having next to no effect. "Voldemort wouldn't want"—

But it wasn't working. Crouch shoved him against the wall, pinning him now with the full weight of his body, and driving what little air there was from Harry's lungs. Crouch was pushing forcefully up against him, not letting him regain his breath and jostling him mercilessly from the front; Harry wasn't sure what was happening until he felt Crouch's free hand between their two bodies on the unprotected skin of his side, beneath where his arm curved behind him. The man's coarse fingers were feeling roughly along his ribs and onto his abdomen, toward the sensitive skin of his navel.

Panicking considerably, Harry bucked forward with his shoulders at Crouch's chest to try and knock him loose, and then let his knees bend, hoping to drop out from underneath the unyielding grasp, but Crouch would not be dislodged and held the boy up by the neck. His roaming hand travelled further downward, making Harry's skin tingle unpleasantly, and bringing fresh gasps of protest from his lips, which only served to heighten Crouch's eagerness. His fingers slipped just beneath the hem of Harry's pants at the front, catching around the metal button there; he was moving slowly, tauntingly, eyes on Harry's face as he yanked on the button, deliberately gentle.

Beside himself with anger and humiliation, Harry pushed back away from his tormentor into the wall, his eyes and face burning hot though his mind felt cold and numb. He felt Crouch wrench outward on the seam of his pants. His one-handed grasp around Harry's neck was firmer than ever, his pitiless eyes drawing hungrily on the fear in Harry's own as the boy felt the top button of his pants come undone.

But thankfully Crouch stopped there, leaving the zipper untouched and returning his full attention to Harry's face to address him, loosening his grasp so that Harry could breathe just barely enough.

"So you see where we are, Potter," rumbled Crouch in a feverishly raspy voice, his eyes shining. "You can still tell me what I want to hear. Either way, you're giving me what I want."

**Please review!**


	16. Familial Circles

**A-Z-animal-freak :** I'm so glad you like my cliffies. Some others (unnamed) have threatened to hunt me down and use my fingernails in a magic spell to turn me bald. I guess not everyone admires or appreciates them like you do = P

I wish I could thank you all! That would take way too long though, and I could be working on the next chapter. Thanks again!

**Chapter Sixteen**

**"Familial Circles"**

Sirius Black came quietly, much to Lucius Malfoy's surprise and chagrin (he had deeply desired for it to become necessary to use force). The scruff-haired man in his Muggle attire walked before Lucius and Bellatrix through the front door of the Malfoy Manor, wearing a haggard yet calm expression and looking straight ahead, without glancing back at either of them. Both kept him under their wands as they made way for the upper floors.

"You must be more the fool than any of us thought," Malfoy sneered as they walked. Without gaining a reply he continued, "Did you really think you would be able to wander aimlessly about my property, Sirius Black?"

Sirius did look back then, slightly taken aback at being addressed by name, and cast Malfoy a dark glare over his shoulder.

Somehow, in that haunted gleam of the eye, this caught Malfoy's attention. "So…" he said dryly, his lip curling. "Not so very aimless, I imagine. But your plans could not have been rasher, Black. We're aware of exactly who you are and where you've been. Before he turned deserter your old friend Pettigrew proved quite useful when it came to gathering those vital bits of knowledge that may have otherwise eluded us. There's nothing the Dark Lord doesn't know about you, Black."

_We'll see, _thought Sirius darkly.

Malfoy was laughing dryly. "Must be luxurious, sleeping in those beds up at the school; under Dumbledore's protection while your Godson—oh yes, Black, we know about that—he waits in this very manor for the moment I take my wand and for the glory of the Dark Lord and the Malfoy name I'll bring it down on his head, ending that nuisance child once and for all." Breathing deeply through his nose, Malfoy eyed the barely concealed expression of rage upon Sirius's tight-lipped face as Bellatrix strode along a few paces behind them, her own beady eyes darting between the two men.

Now walking directly beside the captive, Malfoy assumed control of marching Sirius forward by grabbing the side of Sirius's jacket and jabbing his wand up under the man's collar, pressing it to the base of his head.

"When I finally kill Harry Potter," Malfoy hissed through a twisted smirk, too quietly for Bellatrix to hear, "I will once again be the man that I am, in the eyes of the world and above all, in the eyes of the Dark Lord. I give you my word….you…your friends and their Order…none of you stand a chance. Every last one of you who resist the Dark Lord will be stricken from the worlds of wizardry and Muggles alike. You are working for a dying cause, Black, and I think it's time you see it clearly."

"I'm not here for any cause," growled Sirius with a sharp twist of his shoulders against Malfoy's grasp, not caring to keep his voice down. "I'm not here to fight your damn world order! I—I'm…"

"Ah…" breathed Lucius softly, and several strands of hair fell forward into Sirius's face. "Your Godson."

Sirius clamped his jaws together again, quickly suppressing another upwelling of anger.

He said nothing in response, but the next moment Malfoy had stopped him beside a tapestry, holding it open and indicating that Sirius should make his way through it and start climbing the stairwell beyond. He squared his shoulders and headed up, his strong legs carrying him up stair after twisting stair until it seemed they'd been spiraling through the manor for hours. Sirius couldn't see beyond a mere meter in front of them, as their only light source here came from the two wands yielded by the Death Eaters. After another few long minutes of nothing but the hollow thumps of their feet against the stone steps, Sirius spotted above them a few rays of light filtering dustily into the stairwell through the dirty window of a small, wooden door.

Malfoy pulled Bellatrix to the front. "Go on through," he told her, barely bothering to sound courteous. After a moment of weighing her options and recalling the stern orders she'd been recently given to submit to Malfoy's authority in regards to the Potter boy and all those concerned, she reluctantly complied. Now it was only the two men, on this claustrophobic landing in the dark. Sirius wondered why Malfoy wanted him here, alone.

Malfoy planted himself aggressively in front of the prisoner, and tried to peer under the scraggly hair at Sirius's face. The Death Eater trailed his wand along the underside of Sirius's collar, and then let it rest rather sharply against the vulnerable area between Sirius's jaw and neck.

"Your Godson will die, here, by my own hand, before the Dark Lord and all his followers… and you will be there to see it."

Malfoy's words cut through the dusty air between them as Sirius stared back into those shining, silvery eyes. There was a sense that each man was looking for something behind the eyes of the other, but the moment was fleeting. The hard gleam of rage in the haunted depths of Sirius's gaze was glinting sharply again, and Sirius was leaning forward toward Malfoy's face, his jaw clenched and his brows furrowed tightly in anger. The look in Black's eyes momentarily struck Malfoy again, as it had earlier, and the Death Eater was forced back from Sirius by several inches despite himself. Malfoy's eyes narrowed.

"Allow me to introduce you to a new course of action," Sirius said in a low voice, and in his anger he sounded almost dog-like. "Harry Potter will not die by your wand, Malfoy, because _you_ will die by _mine_ before you have_ever_ _had_ the opportunity."

A ringing silence followed this, and Sirius could feel Malfoy's heavy breaths hitting him in the chest as he stared him down. But Malfoy recovered his dignity and composure after only a moment, straightening up with an almighty shove from his wand into the back of Sirius's shoulder.

"Move!" Malfoy ordered, his voice gravelly with anger and excitement. "Through the door. The Dark Lord awaits you, so I would do everything in my power to sharpen up. But a true word of advice, Black... there's really nothing at all you can do for yourself."

Sirius was shoved roughly out into a bright hallway, momentarily closing his eyes against the unexpected red-golden light that lit the whole expanse. His eyes adjusted almost instantly; the brightness was due to the hundreds of ceiling-high windows lining the outside wall all the way down to the end of the hallway. Evidently these particular windows faced directly west, for as the small brigade made its way along the finely polished stone floor they were flooded in all directions by blinding rays of crimson gold sun. It was one of the most beautiful, colorful sunsets that Sirius could remember ever having seen.

"We're almost there, Black," said Malfoy in a cruel, smooth voice, as though sensing Sirius's moment of strength and wishing to end it. "The drawing room is down on the left."

**NUMBER TWELVE, GRIMMAULD PLACE...**

The yellow street lamp outside Number Twelve, Grimmauld guttered for an instant as the pavement was suddenly flooded by a large number of invisible travelers. The loud cracks signaling their arrival were at first accompanied only by the otherwise still and silent afternoon. Then the journeyers began to appear one by one as they got their bearings about them and pulled themselves together again, each face turning upward to the gaunt facade of the House of Black.

A tall man wearing a golden travelling cloak and a sizeable gold ring in one ear nodded gravely to a mousy woman with bubblegum pink hair. She rounded up the small group of people into the dim light of the streetlamp. "Here we are, this is it," Nymphadora Tonks addressed the tightly knit group of predominantly red hair. "You remember what Dumbledore told you? You can all see it?" There was some general nervous assent. "Good. Let's get inside as quickly as we can, please."

Kingsley led the group up the front steps toward the door, which was now being held open for them by a white faced, tight-lipped Professor McGonagall. She nodded to Kingsley as the big man began herding the others into the house. First came Ron Weasley, pale green in complexion, his arm circled tightly around the hunched shoulders of an exhausted- looking Hermione Granger. Professor McGonagall touched each of them lightly on the shoulder or back as they passed her. She was unable to summon more of a greeting for her students, but none of them spoke a word; the silent acknowledgement was more than enough.

They were closely followed by the twins Fred and George Weasley, walking on either side of their younger sister Ginny, whose wide eyes expressed her gratitude for their closeness. The last to follow was the Weasley's firstborn son, with his small fang-like earring dangling through the lobe of his left ear. Bill Weasley stuck close at the back of their group, keeping one hand on George's back and the other on Fred's, and his body closed Ginny inside an involluntary circle.

After the last of them had crossed the threshold of the Black family ancestral home, Professor McGonagall drew out her wand and cast it along the entire frame of the front door. Nobody standing near her could make out the spells she was quietly muttering, but no one asked. Ron took Hermione around the unsteady shoulders again just as Tonks began to sheperd the others in the direction of the house's dark, gloomy interior.

They began to file down the narrow, dusty corridor, led by Tonks at the front and with Kingsley Shacklebolt bringing up the rear.

"Thank the heavens you've all arrived safely," said Professor McGonagall in a quiet voice to Kingsley as she turned away from the door picked up a tense pace at the back of the group. As the procession evened out and they began to walk in earnest, McGonagall gazed again at all her students, speaking sideways to Kingsley once more. "I mean to say… with this kind of intelligence coming in, all we can do is assume that every last one of us is in constant danger." Her eyes found his. "It's all happening again, Kingsley." Kingsley's face remained impassive as they walked on, his only response being the arm he laid gently on Bill Weasley's shoulder. They were nearing the kitchen; a few more hundred yards up this narrow, crooked corridor…

Before leaving the safety of the school, which had been turned into a veritable fortress over the course of the past few days, they had all been sternly warned by Kingsley Shacklebolt not to ask any questions of any members of the Order while they were at headquarters. It was true that Ron had only ever heard his mother and father talk of the Order of the Phoenix in hushed stories over nighttime fires, but he still felt they were entitled to a little more information than what they had been given…

They had been told a little about the situation by Dumbledore himself in the Headmaster's office after waiting there alone for hours the night of the Third Task. Neither Harry nor Cedric had come out of the maze… all the professors seemed to be in a state of panic—Ron and Hermione had been taken into Dumbledore's tower and told to wait there for their families, who had all been sent for. Harry was gone.

Since that dreadful night, they had been told further bits of information, but not very much. They knew only that Harry had been abducted and was being held prisoner by the Death Eaters, who were stronger than they ever had been.

And the most terrifying revelation of them all… Lord Voldemort had risen.

Their way of life was over, that much was clear. Ron's teeth ground together audibly and his fists clenched. _But Harry…_

Nearing the entrance to the kitchen, Ron felt Hermione come to a halt and he looked up at her. Her frozen expression was turned toward the far corner of the room where Peter Pettigrew sat hunched over a mug in the shadows. Ron stared openly, his mouth hanging open—they had been warned about the man's defection, given their long history with him, but neither Ron nor Hermione could quite grapple with his presence here in this gloomy kitchen. Ron could dimly make out Pettigrew's small eyes glinting over at them from his corner.

It was only when he felt the pushes of his brothers behind them that Ron realized they were standing still, blocking everyone else's progression from the corridor.

Ron led Hermione into the flickering light of the kitchen toward Hagrid's huge form. The enormous Hogwarts gamekeeper stood haphazardly when he spotted them, setting his half-empty mug wobbling treacherously as he climbed out from behind the bench to receive their approach. Hermione's expression seemed to melt as they got within arm's reach of his bulk, and she covered the last pace toward him in a kind of lurch, burying her face deeply in the waist of his musky overcoat. Hagrid was surprised at first, but then he hugged her close, his gigantic hand laid gently across the width of her shuddering back.

**Hope you're enjoying it!**


	17. Hammer and a Nail

**Chapter 17**

**"Hammer and a Nail"**

The kitchen inside Number Twelve, Grimmauld was a gloomy place to be. Ron, Hermione and Hagrid sat huddled together at a corner table, and none of the students had spoken a word to Pettigrew, or acknowleged him at all. Ron and Hermione both clutched bottles of butterbeer in white-knuckled hands, and Hagrid was compulsively sipping a foul smelling beverage out of his own dusty mug. When words were spoken, they were so hushed that they were not picked up from table to table.

Hermione took a shuddering breath and leaned closer to Hagrid. "Is it really possible?" She whispered, her lip trembling, though she bravely held back a fresh flow of tears.

Hagrid bent closer, setting down his mug nervously as though he'd rather continue drinking. "Eh?" He croaked.

"Do you think Dumbledore can really get him out? Will Sirius really be able to get away from the Death Eaters?"

"Sirius can so it, alright," Ron interjected in a loud murmur. He nodded strongly at Hermione. "You know he can."

Hermione glanced at him and looked away, eyes sparkling.

"If anyone can do it, it's Dumbledore," Hagrid told her gently. "And he's got the best people with 'im he could ever have. Sirius'll do anythin' to get Harry back. And don' you forget, Hermione, we still have Snape in there with 'em."

**IN THE MALFOY MANOR...**

Harry's shirt ripped from around his wrists as he was dragged bodily across the room toward the table. Crouch heaved him onto its cracked surface as though Harry weighed no more than a ragdoll, flipping him roughly over onto his back. Harry bit his tongue as his head slammed backward and he let out a grunt, coughing and spitting some blood onto his chest. Feeling slightly stunned he coughed and spit again, trying to keep the warm liquid from trickling down the back of his throat as Crouch released his arm restraints. Dazedly Harry pulled his arms out from underneath himself, still spattering blood onto the table.

The ropes on either side of him slithered to life, wrapping themselves firmly around his ankles and binding his legs to the table. The ones by his sides gripped his wrists tightly and wrenched them back down, securing them just as tightly. Harry fought against them in vain, his mind blank except for one thought: escape. He had reached a very primal state and very little mattered besides putting distance between the two of them.

Crouch watched Harry's struggles intently, his teeth glinting behind curled lips. "There's no getting out of those," he advised with a hint of amusement. "Designed by Harmora Gorwitz, they were."

Harry didn't oblige him with a response, and there was another prolonged pause during which all that could be heard was the sound of Harry's labored breathing.

After another tense moment Crouch drew a bit closer. He inhaled deeply, and suddenly he had his wand out.

Harry's sharp intake of breath brought Crouch's heart rate back up. He lowered his wand slowly toward Harry's bare chest, watching Harry's eyes. He'd seen that look in people before—like a trapped animal. Crouch let his wand touch Harry's skin lightly just above his chest. He drew a circular pattern with it through the beads of sweat there, wondering how long the boy would be able to hold his breath.

Harry could feel blood slowly filling up the back of his throat. Soon he'd have to either spit it out, swallow it or risk choking. Crouch leaned over him slowly, without removing the tip of his wand. "Let's start with something simple," he began softly. "Tell me, Potter. Where can we find the Order of the Phoenix? Where do they hide, the Mudbloods and blood traitors who chose Dumbledore the Weak above the greatest sorcerer that history has ever known?"

A spark of anger rekindled inside Harry. Recklessly, he lifted his head and spat a mouthful of blood at the front of Crouch's shirt.

Crouch let out an animalistic roar and backhanded him with such force that Harry blacked out. A moment later he came to and immediately choked on the blood that had pooled inside his mouth. Crouch stood clear of the spray, still breathing heavily with fury.

"That was a downright tragic idea, boy," Crouch growled. "I was going to start slow. You just lost yourself all hope!"

Harry glared at Crouch's wand as it aimed at his chest again. "Octum forte!" Roared Crouch's voice.

Eight identical cuts began to carve their way through the skin of Harry's ribcage, four on each side. Harry was clenching his jaw tightly but a loud gasp of pain burst through his lips, and another. The cuts were deep and immediately began to bleed profusely.

Then the pain lessened; his skin had stopped splitting, and the slits were each about four inches long, steadily leaking blood down Harry's sides. More blood seeped from the wounds with every heaving breath that Harry took. "I don't know the answers," Harry panted, glaring up at Crouch. "I don't know anything you're asking me!"

"I think you do know," Crouch growled softly, wiping a speck of Harry's blood off his chin. "And I think you're going to tell me. You are Dumbledore's favorite boy, aren't you?"

"No!" Harry gasped out, and he spit some blood to the side again. "I don't know anything more than anybody else! Professor Dumbledore doesn't talk to me about important things." Harry registered a vague, fleeting resentment about this, but it quickly passed.

"It's more pain you need?" Crouched barked, aiming his wand again. Harry tensed and gritted his teeth, eyes trained on the wand with unmasked apprehension. "I'm happy to oblige." Crouch muttered another spell.

Harry felt fire open up across his chest. His skin burned so hot that he thought it must be melting off him; he tossed his head to the side, releasing a strangled yell of anger and fear. He tried to look down and see himself—letters seemed to be appearing, slicing themselves into his skin. He threw his head back again. "I don't know!" He yelled hoarsely, trying to look up at Crouch through the haze of heat rising from his body. "I don't know!" His voice cracked.

The pain stopped again and Harry looked down at his chest. The word DEAD was etched deeply into his skin and there were fresh rivulets of blood dripping onto the table. Harry let his head fall back against its surface, his muscles trembling.

"So, Potter," Came Crouch's voice, and his face swam into view above Harry. "Tell me one more time. Where is the Order located?"

Harry shook his head from side to side. A dull ringing filled his ears and he felt lightheaded.

"Alright, Potter. I'm going to flip you."

Crouch pointed his wand at the ropes, and all four of them sprang awake again, unbinding themselves from Harry's limbs.

With a sudden jolt of adrenaline flowing through his veins, Harry reacted without thinking. He ripped his body sideways away from Crouch, twisting across the table toward the other side. His feet felt open air and he was sliding fast toward the edge—

But vice-like fingers closed around his arm and pulled him back with such force that his upper arm broke loudly. The resulting pain was not something Harry had been prepared for. He screamed hoarsely as Crouch jerked him violently forward, pinning him face-down against the table from above. Harry felt his consciousness ebbing away from him again as Crouch administered the slithering ropes once more. He barely noticed the pain of his chest wounds scraping against the table beneath him next to the agony radiating from his arm. Harry couldn't seem to recall the last time he had taken a breath—how could he still be alive? He needed to breathe. He took a breath on purpose, but it only brought a renewed awareness of the pain.

Harry couldn't move his arms or legs an inch. His vision swam as Crouch's midriff angled into his line of sight.

"I warned you, Potter," Crouch's voice sounded. "I told you what would happen if you didn't open up to me."

Harry felt one of Crouch's hands rest on his lower back. Then the other hand took hold of the back of his pants and tugged, clearly trying to remove them.

Harry drew a sharp breath then, remembering his situation with a heightened wave of conscious clarity. "Don't!" He tried to yell, though it emerged from his lips as a croak. A bolt of pain shot up his neck from his arm. "Get off me, don't!"

Crouch tugged again and Harry felt his unbuttoned pants begin to slide over his hips. "D—don't!" Harry croaked again. "Come on, please!"

Crouch hesitated, looking up from the top hem of Harry's boxer shorts. "Like I said, Potter, I warned you. Now, I'll give you another chance out of the mercy in my heart. You have no idea how long I've wanted this, boy, so hurry up and talk before I change my mind."

Feeling hot behind the eyes, Harry tried to look back at him, to show him the truth on his face. "I've never heard of the Order of the Phoenix…"

He and Crouch held eye contact for a few more seconds, and Crouch remained bent down beside the table, expressionless. Then they felt the explosion.

It was a silent blast that hit them with the violence of a tidal wave, then seemed to rush back through the air from where it had come. Harry kept his eyes open as Crouch was driven to the floor, and with the sound of a vacuum the ruckus subsided.

Harry had only a few moments to wonder what had happened. He heard Crouch's outraged voice as the man flew to his feet, and then he felt the point of Crouch's wand stab into his back. Simultaneously the ropes holding his limbs fell free, and Harry was being pulled fiercely off the table by his broken arm. Ignoring the boy's cries of pain, Crouch circled one arm around Harry from the back, pulling him tightly against the front of his body like a shield.

Harry could finally see the source of the explosion. Standing in the splintery gap that had once been the parlor door was the shadowy figure of Professor Snape. Harry's stomach suddenly felt weak with relief. The muscles in his legs seemed to slacken as he was overcome by a flood of hope, and he would have collapsed to his knees if Crouch hadn't been holding him upright.

He watched Snape take a step across the shattered threshold toward them, eyes fixed on Crouch's face behind Harry.

Crouch's arm tightened around Harry's chest and he felt the wand jab viciously into the side of his neck.

"Keep your distance, traitor!" Crouch barked. "Another step and he's dead!"

Snape paused, his expression unreadable. Harry could feel Crouch's heartbeat against his back.

"How did you—?" Crouch demanded, shifting back and forth breathlessly. "Where's Macnair?"

"Sleeping," spat Snape with contempt, taking another step into the room. Harry kept his eyes glued on Snape's face.

"Drop your wand!" Crouch shouted, and Harry felt the man draw him closer from behind; he felt sweaty against Harry's skin.

"Don't!" Harry yelled suddenly. "Don't drop it, use it! I don't care if you hit—"

"SHUT YOUR MOUTH!" Crouch shouted, spraying Harry's back with spit. "DROP IT, SNAPE, OR THIS BOY DIES!"

"Don't be a disgrace, Crouch," Snape hissed, taking one more step toward them despite Crouch's warnings. "You are a disgusting waste of a wizard, but I will let you live if you allow me to."

"You expect surrender?" Crouch laughed. "You think the rest of them won't be in to see what all that was about?"

It was Snape's turn to curl his lip in cold amusement. His glittering eyes bored holes in Crouch's, and Harry dimly registered how glad he was that Snape wasn't looking at _him_ that way. "I used a containment spell, Crouch. They'll have heard nothing."

Harry leaned away from the stabbing tip of Crouch's wand which was pressing harder and harder with each passing moment. Crouch began pulling Harry with him toward the drawing room door. "Traitor," he spluttered, as Harry stumbled over his feet. "You'll have to hit the boy if you want to curse me!"

Harry knew a moment of desperation as they neared the room where Voldemort sat, and then there was a blinding flash of red light from Snape's wand. Harry's world went black.

Crouch tripped over the boy's limp body as it fell to the floor, and then, recovering, made a great leap for the door.

Snape had him. A well-aimed jet of silver light struck Crouch in the back and the man hit the floor, twitching convulsively.

Wasting no time at all Snape had covered the distance between himself and his charge, kneeling down beside Harry with no change of expression. His dark eyes darted across Harry's body, reviewing the damages. His brow furrowed as he read the word engraved into Harry's chest, and his jaw ticked at the state of Harry's pants, but his face was otherwise unfathomable.

He wouldn't revive the boy. By his first assessment, there was a broken arm and a concussion, all things that would take far too much time for an untrained healer to address at the moment. He reached down and fastened Harry's pants before standing with fluid agility and lifting him off the ground. With one more glance at the unconscious Crouch, Snape heaved Harry up over one shoulder, grasping one of the boy's legs with one arm and reaching up to pull Harry's unbroken arm over his other shoulder. Carrying him this way, Snape slipped soundlessly back through the splintered wall and into the silent parlor.

**Let me know what you think.**


	18. The Upper Hand

**Chapter Eighteen**

**"The Upper Hand"**

The small, glass access door to the upper roof level came open with a few simple spells. The darkness of the evening had lengthened rapidly, and it was difficult to make out any movement beyond the dim light shining from the open doorway. Snape lifted Harry's limp form with a light heave, draping him over one shoulder again and wielding Macnair's wand ahead of them with his other hand. The white wand-light cast a wide circle around them as Snape stepped out onto the roof.

He shone the wand back and forth; nearby steam vents and a stone chimney gave off flickering shadows that danced out in front of them as he crept silently onto the black roof. The manor house fell steeply and darkly below them to the distant lawn and gardens, bushes and trees that seemed tiny from so far above. The roof was flat farther out, and Snape made his way toward it, anchoring Harry's slight weight against his shoulder. But he didn't make it that far.

Several cloaked, silhouetted forms appeared around them, and Snape whirled around with Harry's legs swinging in front of him. His expression was grim as he looked upon the faces of Albus Dumbledore, Remus Lupin, Nymphadora Tonks, Arthur Weasley, his son Bill, Alastair Moody, Kingsley Shacklebolt of the Ministry, Hestia Jones, also of the Ministry, and two other men whom Snape had never met. They materialized into his wandlight, drawing closer around Snape and Harry.

Dumbledore stepped forward "Thank you, Severus. You have done Harry and the wizarding world an invaluable service tonight. Give him to Arthur, please. He must be taken back to headquarters."

Snape allowed Arthur Weasley to come forward and lift Harry from his grasp. As Harry changed hands, the group was offered a fleeting view of the injuries on his chest, and the amount of blood that had stained his stomach and pants. Arthur looked up at Severus with deep gratitude on his face, settling Harry with difficulty over his own shoulder. "You saved his life, Severus," he said in a quiet, choking voice. "Without you..."

Snape received the praise with stoic silence, but there was an uncharacteristic softness to his dark eyes as Arthur backed away and Disapparated with Harry. He didn't waste another second, but turned to Dumbledore with a question in his eyes.

"We have Arthur to thank for the swelling of our ranks," explained Dumbledore quickly. "It was his quick thinking and his influence in the Ministry that alerted some of our colleagues to our situation. Headquarters was rather busy for about an hour; Minerva sent word that the students eavesdropped on a private meeting, and when they learned of the new arrivals they all insisted on coming along. She had to perform strong Impermeable Charms to contain them."

Snape didn't understand. He looked around again, his eyes narrowed. "Potter's already gone. Why are we still here?"

"There's been a change in plans," said Dumbledore briskly, gazing around at his fuming group and settling his gaze again on Snape. "And the way of this night is in our favor. We have received unexpected fortifications. We know where Voldemort is, and we have Harry. None of this would have been possible without you, Severus." Dumbledore reached out. "You may return to headquarters now, or you may accompany us inside." His eyes were somber.

**MOMENTS AGO, SEVERAL FLOORS BELOW...**

Voldemort looked down at the skull on his forearm when it hissed and burned hotly. The Dark Lord touched it with his finger. Then he placed a hand flat on the surface of the long table at which he sat and addressed the Death Eaters at large. "Someone has activated the perimeter alerts on the seventh floor. Avery, Knott, Take Reubarth and Goyle to the seventh floor corridor. The rest of you to the great hall and wait for further word. Any of you who wander now will have me to answer to." The Dark Lord took a deep breath, his slit-like nostrils flaring. "Now!"

The Death Eaters scattered in a disorganized flurry, Disapparating loudly into the air around Voldemort. Avery, Knott, Goyle, and Reubarth Disapparated in unison a moment later, leaving Voldemort alone at the table. The sorcerer sat in the quiet for a moment, not breathing or moving. His eyes were the eyes of a statue, were it not for the evil glint there and the sharp crimson hue.

Voldemort's tongue flicked out over his lips, tasting the air.

Malfoy and Bellatrix had arrived outside the door, with their captive. Voldemort could sense them, and he waited unmovingly at the table.

Outside in the hallway, Lucius Malfoy cast one more contemptuous glance at Sirius before pushing open the door to the drawing room. Sirius glared at the back of Malfoy's silvery head as the door swung in. The hallway was radiantly lit by the brightly filtered light of the sun setting, but beyond Malfoy's narrow frame Sirius could see that the drawing room was dark and ashy. There were thick curtains drawn tightly over the tall windows here, obscuring the sunset outside. One or two thin streaks of red light filtered through one of the curtains, and Sirius's eyes followed them across the wooden floor to the head of a long table. Sirius blinked, trying to force his eyes to adjust to the darkness to see the table more clearly.

Lucius' hand on his shoulder tightened. Sirius took a few steps over the threshold and into the dark room, the two Death Eaters tailing closely behind him. As soon as he stepped inside Sirius could see the Dark Lord. Voldemort was seated at the far head of the long table, surrounded on both sides by empty, high backed chairs. He was alone in the room.

Their footsteps rang off the wooden walls in echoing clacks as Sirius was herded closer to the table. Voldemort's red eyes were locked on Sirius's as they drew nearer, and Sirius felt a strong lurch in his chest. It wasn't fear; it was rage. It was thirteen years of suffering, and it was the loss of the best man he had ever known. His stormy eyes narrowed and his breathing hitched. Lucius and Bellatrix, both misinterpreting his shudder, sneered maliciously behind him.

Bellatrix leaned forward, snaking a hand over Sirius's shoulder to bring him to a stop, and peered alluringly over him at Voldemort. "My Lord," she purred, and Sirius felt her hand caress across his chest and shoulder. He shrugged it away, never lowering his gaze. "My Lord, who could have known?"

Voldemort rose slowly from his chair, his eyes glinting red. "Sirius Black," he said in a dangerously quiet voice.

"Voldemort," grunted Sirius curtly, shifting away again from Bellatrix's ministrations. _He doesn't seem surprised to see me,_ he thought darkly. They now stood facing each other, none of them moving.

Voldemort's nostrils dilated. "You use my name," he murmured, spreading his spidery hands in acknowlegement. "Not many are so brave..."

"I'd heard you had a complex, but I never thought I'd see it in action," snorted Sirius derisively.

Voldemort's lips twisted. "It is truly remarkable how alike you are," he hissed softly. "Both of you, defiant until the very end."

Sirius hesitated, his heart thudding._  
_

"Oh yes, Harry has been rather tricky. Modeled after Dumbledore, and you... I can only speculate. There would have been less trouble and pain, had he been compliant." Voldemort gave a flick of his tongue to taste the air again. "I had planned to be quick with him, but he has forged the way of his own execution..."

Sirius jerked his shoulders roughly in the Death Eaters' grasp. "Where's Harry?" He growled, and it came from deep in his throat. "If you've hurt him-if there's even a scratch..."

"What is there left for you to do?" Voldemort leaned closer to Sirius, who felt raw energy radiating from his body. "I cannot be killed."

"No, but you can be stopped for a while," growled Sirius.

Voldemort hissed, and a vein glowed red on his temple. "Not anymore, Black. My blood is stronger now than you will ever know. You would be obliterated with one flick of my finger, but no. No, I am a sportsman." The Dark Lord raised his gaze over Sirius's shoulder. "Release him."

Bewildered, Sirius felt the grips on his shoulders relinquish. He gave his collar a hard shrug for good measure, glancing behind him and catching a brief glimpse of the faces of the two Death Eaters; both Lucius and Bellatrix looked crestfallen, as though they knew they were about to receive unhappy news.

"Join the others in the great hall." Voldemort's voice was silken. "Wait for me to bring the Potter boy. We will have a proper execution there. I have a personal matter to discuss with Black."

"Yes, my Lord," said Lucius.

Bellatrix was less equipped to disguise her disappointment. She simpered, her eyes travelling from Voldemort to Sirius, and back again. "My Lord, for your safety, do you not think-?"

Voldemort glowered at her, and she visibly quailed. "You think my safety is put at risk by the presence of this mangy traitor?" Hissed Voldemort angrily. "Do not displease me!"

Bellatrix bowed low, though her face still shone with curiosity as she watched Sirius as Voldemort until the moment that she Disapparated.

Voldemort returned the full intensity of his gaze to Sirius, who tensed and squared his shoulders in anticipation.

"Sirius Black," the sorcerer murmured again. "I am so very, very troubled. I am only a breath away from closure, and yet that breath has seemed to go on now for a very long time. You are the unluckiest of all my distractions."

"As your unluckiest distraction, what am I looking at?" Said Sirius recklessly. "A term in service? A reprimand?"

Voldemort sniffed. "My only regret is not having the time to teach you manners before I kill you." He murmured, appraising Sirius with his eyes. "But then, you will be dying with the thought of the Potter boy's last gasp of life imprinted forever in your mind."

Sirius felt the spark of anger in his chest ignite, and just in time.

Voldemort raised his wand and threw a jet of blue light at Sirius. Cursing, Sirius wielded away from the blast, only barely regaining his footing and coming about face once more. Voldemort laughed a high, mirthless laugh and sent another curse tearing toward Sirius. It hit above his head.

_He's toying with me,_ thought Sirius darkly. He ducked another curse, which wouldn't have hit him anyway. _He's pretty sure I'm a dead man._ _But__ i__t can't end this quickly. __No, not this way._ There was a reason he was here. Only him.

He dodged a green spell, and felt it singe some hairs on his jaw as he twisted defensively.

"This dance can't last forever,"taunted Voldemort's voice.

Sirius set his shoulders and came to a halt, wandlessly facing Voldemort with his fists clenched. There would be no more _dancing._ He would face his fate head on, whatever it might be. For James, and for Harry.

He stared Voldemort straight in the face, and the sorcerer's lips spread in an unpleasant smile as he began to speak the words of his next curse, raising his black wand.

If it hadn't been for one stark moment of keen instinct, Sirius would have been defeated. As the bolt of blue light left the tip of Voldemort's wand, Sirius felt his emotions drop out and his senses take over. He leaped forward into the curse, throwing his arms out in front of his head and twisting in the air. His body transformed mid-jump, and as the curse struck him it hit the coarse, furry shoulder of a canine. Blue glowed around the huge dog's body as he kept flying forward, eyes still gleaming, fangs still bared.

Voldemort was caught off guard. His eyes widened in angry disbelief as Sirius barreled into him, knocking violently into his chest and tearing at his wand arm with iron jaws. The dog's nails scrabbled furiously at Voldemort's side while they fought body-to-body on the floor. As they rolled over Sirius pushed off the wizard with a snarling bark and drew back, a constant stream of growls thundering from his throat and Voldemort's wand clenched between his teeth. He trotted a few meters away, shaking out his fur, and turned around to face Voldemort again. His upper lip was drawn back around the sorcerer's wand in a silent vow of hatred.

Voldemort was on his feet again, fixing the dog with a murderous gaze. He was pressing a finger to the skull on his forearm. "You think that you have bested me, Animagus?" His voice sent ripples of dark energy through the room. "I do not need a wand to kill you. You are an insect to me, and I can crush you like one." Sirius was low to the ground, his legs tense. Voldemort laughed. "Aren't you going to face me as a man, Black? And with my own wand? You'll have to do better than that. No man can defeat me."

Sirius transformed again, and when he was on his feet he was naked as the day he was born, holding the Dark Lord's wand in his hand. Unbeknownst to Voldemort, he now clutched Dumbledore's knife in the space against the underside of his left arm. "Then where are your faithful followers?" He demanded in a ragged voice, staring around. It had now been several long moments and none of the Death Eaters were appearing in the room.

Voldemort narrowed his eyes. He did not have an answer. He stepped forward, and Sirius lowered himself into a defensive stance with no thought for his modesty. Voldemort's gray face shone with adrenaline and excitement as as he raised a hand in Sirius's direction, his lips forming silent words.

Sirius flicked Voldemort's wand sharply and shot a counter-curse at his foe, who absorbed the spell into his outstretched hand. As Voldemort's next spell built up around the sorcerer's arms Sirius made the only move that had a chance of taking his enemy by surprise. The glint of the knife at Sirius's side was too quick to have been seen. The blade whistled through the air at the speed of a curse, and there was a _schlick! _as it embedded firmly in the center of Voldemort's robed chest.

Sirius stared, frozen in a leaning crouch as Voldemort took one step backward toward the wall. Power pulsed around the sorcerer's body from the spell that he had been about to cast, and on his face was a look of furious incredulity. Then his eyes found Sirius's. His mouth twisted in a hideously deformed snarl as he spoke. "I cannot die, Black. But you can." His hand reached up to pull the blade free of his body, and when it fell free there was a sudden rush of bright blood over his robes. Sirius had struck him directly in the heart. "You will regret the first breath you ever took, Sirius Black," Voldemort breathed, and his voice broke unnaturally against the walls and floor. Sirius felt power humming and buzzing across the bare skin all over his body. He shivered and remained poised, every muscle tense.

Voldemort placed one hand over the flow from his chest, and then he Disapparated with a _crack! _The power filling the room and standing Sirius's hair on end abated immediately, leaving a resounding silence in its wake.

Sirius let himself lower to the floor, hearing his blood hammering in his ears. His hands and legs shook with the toxic energy from the spell his canine body had absorbed. Slowly but increasingly pain began to register in all parts of his body. He felt hot, like he was burning from the inside, and his vision seemed to be fogging in and out. He didn't know what curse Voldemort had hit him with, but Dumbledore would know... he would have to ask Dumbledore...

He thought he could hear distant rumblings elsewhere in the manor. A muffled explosion, followed by another.

**Leave a review!**


	19. Abyss

**crolmac:** This one's for you, love ; )

**Chapter Nineteen**

**"Abyss"**

_Get up._

Sirius stared, astonished, at the place where Voldemort had just disappeared. He had gone from very overheated to feeling cold, weak and shivery all in a few short minutes, and it seemed like he was looking at the world through a haze.

_GET UP!  
_

He felt a sudden flood of warmth return to his limbs at the prod from his subconscious. He wiggled his fingers and toes experimentally, and shook his head to try to clear it of the fog. He got to his feet, running a hand over his face. He needed to find Harry, and not delay.

With a burst of energy he broke into a trot, heading for one of only two doors out of the drawing room. He pushed through it, and was brought up short.

The room before him was a shredded, smoldering ruin. A large section of the opposite wall had been blasted away, leaving a wide, splintery gap, and chalky debris covered the floor. Sirius picked his way into it, his expression grim. He headed for a charred, oak table across the room where the gleam of fresh blood had caught his eye.

A bench had been blasted under it, and tangled there Sirius could see the frayed end of a black rope. He reached down and yanked it out onto the table surface, grimacing when he discovered that it was wet with blood. More blood was spattered copiously across the sides of the table and the bench beneath it. Sirius dropped the rope and was straightening up when a glimpse of white under the table caught his eye.

He reached under the edge and pulled it out, holding it up. It was a crumpled shirt. Harry's shirt.

Sirius's heart sank lower and lower as he examined it, checking the sleeves, the pocket, the collar. There was some blood on the collar, and most of the buttons down the front of the shirt had been torn off. Sirius growled, and fury began to bubble up through his veins. He dropped the shirt onto the table and whirled on his heel, prepared to barrel out of the wreckage into the rest of the manor and kill every Death Eater he found until one of them led him to Harry, but something else caught his eye, this time in the corner of the room.

An unconscious form could barely be seen in the shadows, covered in dust and debris. Cautiously, Sirius approached. He didn't know whether he was dealing with friend or foe, or even... could it be? Harry's face flashed in his mind's eye.

But it wasn't. As Sirius got closer, he could see pale, disheveled hair and the broad, muscular build of someone much older than Harry. Sirius bent over the man, abandoning all caution and yanking back on the stranger's sleeve to expose his forearm. There it was, proudly branded in the Death Eater's skin: Voldemort's black skull and snake.

Sirius threw the Death Eater's arm back to the ground, as though it had spit on him. In his rage, he had already raised Voldemort's wand in the air to deliver a killing curse before he stopped himself, shocked.

This was an unconscious, unarmed enemy, and to kill him like this would dishonor Sirius forever. The wizard looked nervously down at the black wand, wondering if it could be affecting his senses.

"_Consurgo_," he muttered, and the Death Eater rose up into the air, hanging limply. Sirius wielded the prisoner before him as he left the wreckage behind, slipping under the edge of the splintery gap between this and the adjoining room.

It was here that Sirius discovered the unconscious body of another Death Eater, and upon checking the man's forearm to confirm his suspicions, Sirius could no longer deny his bewilderment. What turn of events was it that had left a string of downed Death Eaters throughout the west side of the manor, so close to where Voldemort had been?

**GRIMMAULD PLACE**

Arthur Weasley struggled up headquarters' stone front steps, shouldering Harry on one arm and raising his wand with the other. But he didn't have to knock. He found the front door swinging open, and he was looking gratefully up into the taut faces of McGonagall and Madam Pomphrey.

"Come quickly, now," said McGonagall tightly, shepherding Arthur and his cargo over the threshold and into the damp air of the house, toward a narrow staircase. As the group of them climbed, neither McGongall nor Madam Pomphrey could keep from staring at the blood all over Arthur's shoulder.

Arthur could hear the distant shouts of his children reverberating around them as they kept ascending. Yells of, "We're old enough to join the Order!" And "We should be allowed to leave this room!" from his twins echoed through the walls, but as they climbed higher the noise seeped rapidly into the paint as though this was not the first grief and desperation that the house had consumed.

They leveled off, and Madam Pomphrey opened a hallway door into a very spotless makeshift infirmary. Blinking at the abrupt brightness, Arthur carried Harry inside, and without pulling back the white sheet he lay the boy gently down on the closest hospital bed. Harry's head rolled to the side and he did not wake. In the bright light, Arthur was afforded his first view of Harry's condition, and he felt his insides growing cold. Harry was pale and sweaty, and there was a bleeding gash over his temple. There were multiple deep cuts along his ribcage on both sides, and they were steadily leaking blood onto the sheet beneath him.

With an experienced air of confidence (though her lips were whiter than usual) Madam Pomphrey shunted Arthur to one side. He moved willingly, standing back to watch her get to work. He was afforded his first unobstructed view of Harry's condition, and he gritted his teeth angrily.

Harry was pale and sweaty, with a bleeding gash over his temple and and a bloody mouth. There were multiple deep, bleeding incisions along his ribcage, and it looked like there were letters carved into his chest, but all the blood made it impossible to tell what they were. One of the boy's arms was bent at an awkward angle, broken.

Madam Pomphrey passed her hands briskly over Harry's face, chest, arms and legs, examining the worst of his injuries. She was speaking quick words under her breath that neither Arthur nor McGonagall could hear. Minutes ticked by, and she was still bent over the bed.

Then without warning, the nurse straightened up and wordlessly summoned a long curtain and rod, which she yanked shut around herself and the bed without speaking to anyone. Arthur backed away, depleted and on edge all at once. After looking around for a moment, he sat down on a nearby bed. "I'll stay a while," he said to McGonagall. "To be here in case he wakes up."

She nodded. "I'm-I'm going to check on the students," she answered, and there was an uncharacteristic quaver in her voice. With a nod to Arthur, who nodded back, she left the infirmary and closed the door behind her.

Arthur ran a hand through his fraying, red hair and then folded his hands in his lap.

He waited for what felt like an hour. In reality, only fifteen minutes went by before Madam Pomphrey was whipping back the curtain and emerging with a sweaty face and a bloody frock.

Arthur, snapping back from his wanderings, rose to greet her. "How is he, Poppy?" He asked, stepping forward.

The nurse wiped her hands across her front, leaving more streaks of Harry's blood on it. "He'll live," she said. Arthur gave a heave of relief and sat back down on the bed behind him. Madam Pomphrey continued grimly, "He's lost a lot of blood, though. It could have killed some wizards. I've given him some Plasmo-Gro to help his body replenish his blood while he sleeps, and it's going to be a long night. He may not wake until morning."

Arthur nodded. His relief felt impermeable at the moment-Harry would be okay. Even if it took a long night to achieve it, he would be alright. "Can I see him?" He asked the nurse.

Madam Pomphrey stood aside, and Arthur moved past her to Harry's bedside.

The boy looked to be resting peacefully, not quite as pale as he had been before. The gash on his temple was now only a scar, and scars ran along the length of his ribcage and across his chest. The letters were now clearly visible, and Arthur clenched his teeth and shook his head at the sight. He reached down and clasped Harry's shoulder. "We're here," he said softly. "You'll be alright, Harry."

_There was a single thought. Just one. It floated and danced, so close yet still out of his grasp._

_He needed that thought._

_He reached for it, stretching, extending. It danced away again, and the shimmering darkness embraced it, laughing at him._

_He reached again. The thought danced away. There was the sense that if he reached any further, he would fall into the abyss forever... but he needed that thought. It was the only thing that mattered._

_He stretched for it, feeling the darkness surrounding him, accepting him._


	20. I Am Alive

**Chapter Twenty**

**"I Am Alive"**

With two Death Eaters in tow, Sirius made his way doggedly through the manor in the direction of the commotion. With nothing to protect him from the chill of the indoor evening air, he had hijacked a jacket and a pair of leather pants from one of his pseudo-companions, leaving Macnair with a small portion of his dignity in the form of dark blue underwear. He quickened his pace. There was no time-the sounds and the explosions were growing louder and closer together.

With a grunt, Sirius forced his way through a door at the bottom of a short stairwell and found himself in a long, spacious hallway. He strode out onto the velvety carpet, keeping low and close to the wall. His body kept urging him to transform, and run much faster, but he couldn't; he needed his wand to contain his two prisoners, who were floating lifelessly along behind him.

Another explosion sounded, and this one was very close. It shook the light brackets along the wall, and dust filtered down from the ceiling. Sirius slowed, hugging the wall, his eyes alert and his heart hammering. He was nearing the manor's great hall, the direction which seemed to be the source of interest. If he descended another floor, Sirius believed he'd find it. He could see the entrance to a stairwell, and he was heading for it when the next explosion hit.

Everything around Sirius flew in different directions. The lights smashed out into total darkness, and the floor was crumbling out from underneath him. As Sirius fell through it he flung an arm over his face, feeling rock and wood hitting him on all sides and air whipping over his skin. There was nothing he could do but brace.

Sirius's eyes were closed. Rocks on all sides were striking the floor in a continuing series of crashes.

He waited, bracing his body.

Debris continued to rain down around him, pelting him.

Sirius gasped and opened his eyes, twisting awkwardly in mid-air and kicking out his legs. He was hanging suspended a few feet above the floor, gazing up open-mouthed at the splintery chamber above him.

Then suddenly he was falling again. With a shout he landed on his back among the sharp rubble.

Sirius scrambled to his feet, panting and rubbing his back where the rocks had bitten in. His eyes scanned his new surroundings in bewilderment. The hallway floor that had given way was lying scattered across the lower floor corridor, and thick dust filled the air. Staggered among the wreckage were the unharmed bodies of the two Death Eaters that had been travelling with him. Whatever had stopped Sirius's plunge had evidently done the same for them.

"Don't move," said a voice.

Sirius whirled, clasping his hands. They were both empty. He had lost Voldemort's wand.

A form stepped nervously into his field of vision. A pointy faced, white blond form. A Malfoy.

Sirius froze. The boy's wand was up, pointing directly at Sirius's heart. Sirius glanced around and behind him, searching for others. There were none.

"You..." Sirius began, confused. "Did you...?"

"I said don't move," said Malfoy again, his voice cracking. He looked ragged and torn apart, and there was blood on his lip.

Sirius held his hands out before him in a placating gesture. "I won't," he said, with another swift glance down at the ground. Where was that wand? "What happened?"

Malfoy's eyes widened, his wand arm faltering. "They attacked," he blustered, his voice thick. "Out of nowhere. They were everywhere, I didn't have a choice. I had to fight them!" His whole body shuddered as a another explosion sounded nearby, rocking the already ravaged halls.

"Who? Who was everywhere?"

"Dumbledore's men," choked Malfoy, his eyes shining. "They attacked from the outside... they blasted out the entire side of the great hall."

"Dumbledore's attacking the house?" Sirius's mind raced and his eyes darted over the rubble in search of Voldemort's wand.

There it was! Half buried by dust and debris, the gleaming black handle of Voldemort's wand shone a few feet away from him on the floor. It looked unbroken.

"They were killing right in front of me," the Malfoy boy continued, seeming to deflate at the retelling of his nightmare. "It all happened so fast..." His left hand covered his split bottom lip. "My father and I were separated at the very start, and I ran."

Sirius glanced down at the wand again, and back up at Malfoy. But Malfoy had seen him looking, and his back straightened. He held his own wand more tightly, higher in the air.

"You don't have to do anything rash," said Sirius in what he hoped was a gentling voice. "I don't want to hurt you. You must not really want to hurt me, otherwise you wouldn't have saved my life just now." He took a brave step in the direction of the wand, his eyes on the boy's face.

Malfoy shifted again, watching him, but didn't make a move to stop him. "It's all gone too far..." his voice trailed away into uncertainty as Sirius neared the wand. "None of this was supposed to happen, I never thought it would..."

Sirius took another step, and bent over the wand, his hand outstretched. He clasped it between his fingers and straightened up, his eyes finding Malfoy's once more.

The boy took a step back, his eyes huge and his wand hand shaking. But Sirius pointed Voldemort's wand at the two unconscious Death Eaters, raising them into the air with a flick. "I have to take them with me," said Sirius gruffly.

Malfoy kept steady, breathing fast. He didn't respond.

"I owe you thanks," Sirius said. "I'll be sure to make your actions known. But you have to go away from this house. There will only be more killing here tonight."

"Wait!" Malfoy cried out as Sirius turned to walk away, and he paused and looked back. "Please... please," Malfoy stammered, his wand arm dropping to his side. "Please make sure my mother and father aren't killed."

"I think that fate is in their hands," said Sirius, but his voice was more gentle than any Malfoy would have illicited from him in the past. He turned on his heel and strode quickly in the direction of fighting. There were two entrances from this hallway into the great hall, and Sirius chose the first of two tall double doors (farther down the corridor the wall had been blasted away, casting large portions of wood and stone against the second of the two entrances.) After pausing for only a moment outside the doors, Sirius-wielding his prisoners in front of him-raised Voldemort's wand and blasted the doors off of their frame. With a yell he charged forward into the haze of smoke, shouting, and jets of blinding light that filled what remained of the great hall.

**AT HEADQUARTERS...**

Minerva McGonagall hurried into the kitchen of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. Her face was shining and flushed.

"They've taken the manor," she breathed to those gathered in the room, her lips quivering. "There are prisoners, and some casualties on both sides."

The kitchen was filled with young people in their teens, most of them sporting heads of brilliantly red hair and a spattering of freckles. Hermione was there as well, and the son of the Ministry's Kingsley Shacklebolt had arrived the previous hour. They were temporarily confined to the kitchen by magic as a consequence for having staged a protest against not being permitted into the fighting. It had left the room in shambles. They'd been instructed to clean it up while they waited, and as McGonagall walked in they all quickly got to their feet, not wanting to be caught sitting idly by.

McGonagall's ringing words washed over them slowly as they registered what she had said.

"Are-are they coming back?" Hermione stuttered, her face paling.

"Are they alive?" Ron demanded. His father was already here at headquarters, but not his brother Bill.

McGonagall came forward, herding them with her hands to seat themselves around the table. "There were losses, but the headmaster didn't name them. There was no time," she told Ron gently. He collapsed onto the bench, weak with strain. McGonagall addressed the rest of them. "You all need to know that He Who Must Not Be Named is still at large. He fled the manor after a confrontation with Sirius Black."

Ron and Hermione shot wary looks at each other, and both learned forward. "Did Sirius make it?" Asked Hermione in a wavery voice. The other students exchanged quick glances, still entirely unused to the idea of being affiliated with the reputed murdering psychopath.

"We still don't know," reiterated McGonagall. "You are to wait here for me to return, after the wounded have been brought upstairs and things have settled."

Fred and George Weasley threw up their hands in anger. "When are you going to let us out of here?" Fred exclaimed.

"You need us helping!" Roared George.

McGonagall shook her head firmly. "Stay here, and wait. It won't be long now."

**...**

**...**

**...**

_The thought._

_With it, anything would be possible. Anything, because without it, there was nothing._

_Though the blackness was all around him now, he was not so enamored by it that he abandoned his purpose._

_He could still feel it; he was almost there._

_The darkness was leaking into his very core, compelling him to forget, but he couldn't. The memory mattered too much to give in now._

_He reached. He was already so far into the abyss that it made little difference now whether he fell further. The thought was all that mattered now._

_And then he had it._

_It entered him as he reached, and with an explosive rush it filled him, body and soul._

I am Harry Potter. **I am alive**.

He knew a flood of rushing chaos as the thought took root and all his memories came back to him. With the feeling of soaring upward very quickly the black abyss began disintegrating. He flew up through it and it parted around him. The creeping tendrils that had been so insistent before now shrank back, unable to touch him as he rose.

The darkness broke, fragmenting into a million pieces.

Upon his return to the physical world, the first thing Harry knew was that he was being touched. He could feel fingers running across his forehead and pushing back his hair. He tried to open his eyes, to move, to push the hand away, but he couldn't. He felt the fingers on his arm, passing over and under, tying him down.

No! his mind cried. His eyes flew open unseeingly and he threw out his arm with a raspy shout, pushing his tormentor away. There was a commotion around him, and he heard several voices break through the silence with a loud scraping of chair legs.

"Harry!"

"Watch him, Poppy!"

He kicked with his feet, trying to sit up, but he was being held down.

"Harry, stop! It's me! Stop flailing!"

Harry's eyes began to adjust to the brightness of the unfamiliar place. His struggles weakened and ceased, and he looked up with dawning clarity into a familiar, rugged face. "Sirius?" He rasped. "Sirius, what-?"

Sirius's face broke into a smile of relief, and he helped Harry sit up against the headboard. "You had us going for a second," he said softly, not wanting to release his godson's shoulder. "You're alright, you're in my house now."

Harry shook his head, searching for words as his eyes beheld the other people gathered at his bedside. There was Mr. Weasley, Mrs. Weasley, Professor McGonagall, Professor Lupin, and Tonks, standing side-by-side around him with expressions of unrestrained relief.

"You're at headquarters," said Sirius gratefully. "You're safe."

Harry's mind fumbled to come to grips with this new reality. "How..." he shifted edgily, feeling grateful for the firm grip on his shoulder. "Were you...? Did you-?"

Sirius gripped his shoulder more tightly. "It was Professor Snape who got you out."

"S-Snape?" Harry saw a flash in his mind's eye of the professor standing sillhoetted in a shattered doorway.

Sirius nodded. "He was injured during the fighting. Madam Pomphrey patched him up, and Dumbledore took him away a few hours ago to talk."

Harry didn't say anything. His eyes lingered on the overbright curtains that lined the walls all the way down the long room, wondering if they concealed people he knew... Then he turned back to Sirius, feeling for the first time a blossoming warmth and hope in his chest. It was true... he wasn't in the manor. He was safe. He took in Sirius's face, remembering how many times he'd wondered if he would ever see his godfather again. Reaching up, Harry gripped Sirius's arm.

"We're so glad you're alright, Harry," Mrs. Weasley said from behind Sirius, and Harry could see tears on his cheeks.

Madam Pomphrey bustled through the circle, bearing a tray with a glass of water and a small vial. "You took some work, but you'll be just fine," she said briskly, handing him both items. "Drink up, and drink up, my boy. All of you-back with you, give the boy some air to breathe. Out. Out!"

The Order members retreated reluctantly, but instead of leaving, Sirius dragged a chair over to the very edge of Harry's bed, fixing the nurse with a stubborn look. "I'm staying," he said.

She clicked her tongue, but it did not sound all that disapproving. Harry handed the empty potion vial back to her and set the glass of water down on the bedside table. Madam Pomphrey eyed it with a raised eyebrow. "I'll work on it," he reassured her in a croaky voice, wishing she would leave so he could talk to Sirius. She bent over him briskly to finish securing the arm bandage that had been forgotten during Harry's outburst, and then left him alone, disappearing into her makeshift office with a parchment, quill, and a few bottles of potions.

"She said you lost a lot of blood, but it was nothing she couldn't handle," said Sirius, glad for the reprieve.

Harry, at first anxious to talk to Sirius again, was suddenly feeling very heavy-hearted. He cleared his throat, subconsciously wiping his hands across the sheet over his chest. His eyes dropped and he looked away, trying for all he was worth to keep feeling glad. But there was a deep rift between them, it seemed. How could he ever describe to Sirius what had gone on in the Malfoy manor? And yet how could he not? It felt like such a strange cornerstone in his life, but how could he ever let anyone else in on it? He couldn't.

"Hey," said Sirius, leaning closer. "You ok?"

Harry nodded quickly, running his hands over his chest again.

Sirius's eyes flickered. "You'll have scars, but they'll fade away in time. They weren't curse scars."

Harry nodded again, feeling increasingly guilty that he couldn't just be glad to be back, to be next to Sirius again.

"Are you hungry?"

Harry's stomach gave a loud rumble.

With a tentative grin, Sirius stood. "I'll bring you some food. I'll be back in a minute." He made his way toward Madam Pomphrey's office, glancing worriedly over his shoulder at Harry before knocking on the door and slipping inside.

Harry rubbed a hand over his forehead and through his hair, inhaling deeply. He ran his fingers under the bedsheet, tracing the edges of the letters engraved on the skin of his chest. His stomach clenching, he reached down to the hem of his pants and felt around the button, making doubly sure it was fastened before sitting the rest of the way up in bed. The white sheets fell off him and he shivered. The air in the room was cool, and he wished he had a shirt or a robe or something. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, exploring the room with his eyes.

Sirius reappeared, carrying a small tray of various assorted food items, treats that on any other day would have made Harry's mouth water. "What are you doing?" Sirius asked sharply, coming back over. "You shouldn't be getting up yet, you're still recovering."

"I feel normal," said Harry, reaching for the Pumpkin Pasty Sirius handed him but not eating it. "Madam Pomphrey can fix anything." _Most things._

"Madam Pomphrey wouldn't want you wandering out of here, Harry, not in your state. Not in this house." Sirius reached for a white cotton button down from a nearby dresser that had been laid out for Harry. "Here, put this on before you get cold." He handed it over.

Harry took it, looking around them while he shrugged delicately into it. As the fabric passed over his chest scars his jaw ticked, but he gave no other outward sign of discomfort. "You said this is your house?" He asked Sirius, wanting to keep the attention off of himself.

"This is headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix," Sirius responded. Harry's shoulders tensed at hearing the name, and he glanced up at Sirius uncertainly. The man sat down on the edge of Harry's bed. "It _was_ my house. I grew up here."

"This Order of the Phoenix..." Harry began, but a flash of Crouch's face in his mind's eye stopped him, and he trailed off, reaching for the glass of water beside the bed.

Sirius watched him, brows furrowed and dark lines stretching across his forehead. He was about to open his mouth again when there was a gentle knock on the infirmary door, and it swung open.

Harry and Sirius turned to see Dumbledore entering the room, followed by a black-cloaked Professor Snape.

**Thanks.**


	21. The Offer

**Chapter Twenty-One**

**"The Offer"**

"Professor!" Said Harry loudly, abandoning his Pumpkin Pasty on the bedside table as the Hogwarts headmaster swept into the room. Snape was behind him, wearing his usual ambiguous expression of vague distaste.

The need to speak with Dumbledore rose up in Harry now that the headmaster was here, and he teetered on the edge of his bed. "Professor Dumbledore," he said uneasily. "I was questioned about...they wanted to know where you..." he trailed off when Dumbledore held up a long fingered hand to stop him.

"No need, Harry," the headmaster informed him gently, using his wand to summon a chair from the other side of the bed, but he didn't sit. "I already know what took place, thanks to Professor Snape."

Harry looked from Dumbledore to Snape uncertainly, feeling nauseous. Shouldn't he tell Dumbledore that they had been searching for headquarters? Snape hadn't been there for the interrogation itself... "But, sir," he insisted. "They know about the Order of the Phoenix."

"Yes, they do," said Dumbledore grimly. "When I say I have been informed to a large extent of what you went through, Harry, I truly do mean that I have seen it."

Harry stared in bewilderment. "You've seen it?"

"I will leave it to Professor Snape to explain where we stand, if you don't mind, Harry. Sirius? I have a similar matter to discuss with you, if you don't mind accompanying me somewhere a little more private."

Sirius glanced at Dumbledore and then at Snape, not wanting to leave Harry's bedside. He started to shake his head.

"It is a matter of pressing importance, if you will forgive me." said Dumbledore more firmly, standing back and indicating that Sirius should walk past him away from the bed. "This way, if you please."

Very reluctantly, Sirius pushed back his chair with a loud scrape and stood, fixing Snape with a warning stare that he hoped would compel the potions master to leave Harry alone in his absence. Snape returned the gaze imperviously, watching him go as though waiting for him to be gone.

When Dumbledore had closed the door to Madam Pomphrey's office behind himself and Sirius, Snape turned around and spoke to Harry.

"I've told Professor Dumbledore everything," he said, his tone unreadable. His dark eyes searched Harry's face intently. "The headmaster needed to know. I told him about the dungeon, about Voldemort. I told him about the Death Eater, and his...questioning."

Harry's pulse quickened, but he didn't respond. He stared at a string fraying from the side of the hospital chair as though it required intense scrutiny.

Snape continued, "I showed him what happened using something called Occlumency. Have you heard of it?"

Harry shook his head.

"I didn't think so. It is a method used for viewing and interpreting the thoughts and feelings of others. Using Occlumency, I was able to see some of what went on while you were alone with Crouch."

For a second Harry didn't really register Snape's meaning, but as the revelation took hold he felt what little color there was in his cheeks slowly begin to drain. He pushed off the bed with his hands and stood, wanting the conversation to be over.

"What are you doing, Potter? Don't be foolish, sit down."

Harry glared at him. "What do you want?" He demanded, fiercely rebutting Snape's attempt to push him back onto the bed. "I don't -get off! Leave me alone!"

Snape towered over him. "Sit down, Potter."

Harry sat abruptly, and Snape let go of his arm. The potions master took a step back, lessening the pressure asserted by his body language but maintaining an authoritative stance. Dumbledore had warned him about this. " Anger is an injured mind's way of protecting itself," the headmaster had said.

"Will you allow me to tell you why I'm here?" Snape asked sternly. Harry looked at the floor. Snape took a seat next to the bed, which seemed to lessen the tension between them. "Dumbledore has asked me to offer you the option of a spell that would temporarily remove certain...memories...to be stored in a Penseive, and examined by you at will." Snape waited, but Harry didn't look up. After a moment, Snape continued. "He wanted me to offer this to you, but he says you must first talk about what happened."

Harry couldn't make much sense of Snape's words. The idea of Snape and Dumbledore seeing what Crouch had done was still resounding in his mind.

"It's called Daementus Dimito. A penseive is a magical tool that some wizards find-"

"I know what a Penseive is," said Harry, with a mild clip to his tone. He thought back to his uninvited trip into Dumbledore's Penseive earlier in the year, during which he'd seen a much younger, yet already corrupted version of Crouch's son sentenced to life in Azkaban. Walking through those whispery, timeless moments had been eery. And who might happen upon his own banished memories, as he had happened upon Dumbledore's?

"Access to the memory would be yours alone," Snape said, as though reading Harry's thoughts. "The headmaster has more than one Penseive. It would be perfectly secure. It is your choice what you do, but either way, you'll have to revisit what happened at least once."

Harry bit his lip, his eyes glazing over as he saw flashes of the events of the previous night enfolding. The damp coldness of the dungeon prison, the feel of the _frenums_ around his wrists, the weakness they left in him afterward. He saw Malfoy's wand at his throat again, and then Crouch's leering face was at the forefront, looming closer, shining with glee. It filled his chest with the same frigid cold as it had at the time.

"Potter."

Harry blinked, and shook his head to clear it. "I don't know," he admitted gruffly, reaching up to rub the scar on his temple unconsciously. "I don't know what I want to do."

Snape watched him sharply, but didn't say anything more. He stood, his mouth turned down in a heavy frown, and his cloak falling back down around his feet. Before he left, he hesitated by the bed where Harry sat, looking torn. "Potter," he said, suddenly seeming awkward. "You've been through a lot. Rest for a while, before you reunite with your friends."

Harry nodded self consciously, filled with an unexpected wave of guilt for being so ungrateful toward Snape. It wasn't that he suddenly hoped the potions master would stay, it was just... somehow there was a level of awareness between them now that hadn't been there before. Snape had been there in the manor with Harry, and though Harry had not consented, the potion's master had seen everything between him and Crouch. It was almost like familiarity...

He watched Snape depart. There was a soft click as the infirmary door closed, and it left Harry feeling empty, guilty, and conflicted.


	22. Location Unknown

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

**"Location Unknown"**

Professor Dumbledore sat with Sirius in Madam Pomphrey's office, speaking in a strong but hushed voice. Sirius's teeth gritted harder and harder at Dumbledore's words as the headmaster described some of what Harry had experienced, softening some of it for Harry's sake but still delivering a clear message.

"What do you mean?" Sirius interrupted in the middle. "What does that mean?"

Dumbledore looked grave and his eyes seemed to glow fiercely. "I can only say that there was a Death Eater in the manor who turned on Harry in a very unexpected way."

"What do you mean, 'unexpected'?" Demanded Sirius.

"There were...advances made. Out of respect for Harry I won't describe them in detail, but it was a line that should never have been crossed."

"Dumbledore..." growled Sirius. "What are you saying, exactly? Did they... was he...?"

"No," said Dumbledore with certainty. "Snape was able to intervene, with no time to spare."

Sirius got to his feet, his hands clenched. "What did they do to him?"

Dumbledore held up his hands. "Sirius, think. If you react right now, how will it affect Harry? He has to think _he_ is the first one to tell you what happened, when he finally does."

Sirius seethed through his teeth, his knuckles white.

The headmaster inhaled slowly through his long, crooked nose. "What transpired inside the manor...the full story...is Harry's, and Harry's alone to share with whom he chooses. Until then...you must simply be there for him. Be present, be ready and willing to listen."

Sirius ground his teeth so loudly that Madam Pomphrey looked up from her desk charts in disapproval, clicking her tongue.

"Alright," said Sirius finally. "Let's go, I want to see him."

Dumbledore's light blue eyes fixed on Sirius, twinkling seriously. "One last thing, my friend. Severus saved Harry's life last night. And barely. Just like you, he risked himself to help bring Harry home. When you think about Severus Snape, ponder on that."

Sirius knew Dumbledore was right this time about Snape. "I know."

Dumbledore nodded. "Very good. I feel much better knowing I've brought you up to speed, Sirius. If Harry would like to rest and recover a little while more, Madam Pomphrey has assured me he can stay here. However, Molly has informed me that lunch is at one, and if Harry is feeling ready, that is where his friends will be."

Sirius nodded, and followed Dumbledore out of the office with a tense nod to Madam Pomphrey. The nurse eyed him sternly and followed them out carrying a large tray for patients in intensive care, all of whom were hidden behind the thick curtains at the back of the infirmary.

Harry was waiting for them on the bed when they reappeared. When he glimpsed them returning he sat up a little straighter, but his shoulders felt sore.

Dumbledore stopped by Harry's bed for a moment before leaving, offering him a kind hand and a few gentle words. Harry met his eyes but didn't smile. After the door had clicked shut behind Dumbledore, Harry couldn't bring himself to look up at Sirius again.

Sirius cleared his throat, rubbing his palms over his thighs as he sat down on the bed beside Harry. He took a deep breath. "Do you want to rest longer? Give your body a little more time?"

After a moment Harry shook his head slowly. "No, I'm alright. Madam Pomphrey fixed me."

Sirius nodded. "How about getting out of this place? Seeing the rest of the house? Seeing Ron and Hermione?"

Harry looked up, faintly uplifted. "Yeah." He cast a look behind his shoulder at the long, thick curtains. Behind them, wizards lay dying, but he didn't know who.

Sirius saw him looking, and reached out to clasp him on the shoulder. "Come on, let's get you dressed." He went over to a tall, narrow cupboard against the wall and opened it, rifling through the clothes and linens until he found a clean shirt, pants, socks, and a cloak for Harry. "You'll want this," he said, turning around and holding up the cloak. "It might be summer outside, but not in my mother's house."

He threw the clothes to Harry, who caught them and drew the curtain around his bed. While he changed he could hear Sirius on the other side of the curtain dragging a few chairs back to their places along the wall, a sound that he was glad for. When the curtains closed they shut out the feel of the real world. As Harry pulled on the white shirt and slipped into the soft, brown slacks it seemed the shining, white material was closing in around him. The reflections of light off its creases reminded Harry of something...a shimmering abyss...something he didn't want to remember. With a sharp pull he yanked them open again and slid off the bed onto the floor.

Sirius, having finished tidying the area, turned back to Harry, who paused. Something was bothering him. "When are we going to talk about Voldemort?" He asked, smoothing the wrinkles in his shirt nonchalantly.

Sirius's light expression faded as he considered the boy, wondering if he could already be ready to talk. "I was waiting until you asked."

"Is he dead?"

Sirius shook his head no. "I don't think he can even die, to be honest. But he fled. I stabbed him in the heart, and he Disapparated."

Harry gaped. "You stabbed him in the heart?"

"Yeah. It would've killed anyone else, obviously."

Harry rubbed his chin, aghast. "I had no idea you were even in the house," he murmured dazedly. "And you walked away from it?"

"I transformed. Voldemort used a rare killing curse, I've spoken with Dumbledore. I'm lucky it was that spell he chose, that's for certain."

"Why?"

"It's just-instead of killing indiscriminately like Avada Kedavra, this curse is fancier and more decorative. It's a transfiguration, really. Only the boastful dark wizards use it. It kills by targeting the cells in a body, eliminating the genetic information that determine someone's existence. Once the DNA doesn't exist, neither does the person. Not physically, anyway. But since he used it on me as a human and it hit me as a dog, all it did was rattle me up a bit at the cellular level. There was no human DNA to transform. It would have killed me if Voldemort had been trying to murder a dog, but... I'm lucky. I had some warning beforehand, I had some idea what I would have to do." Sirius thought back to that shiny, black mirror and Mad-Eye Moody's insights, before his thoughts drifted darkly to Pettigrew, and the man's strange failure to tell Voldemort that Sirius was an Animagus.

Harry was still shaking his head in disbelief. "So Voldemort's on the run again? What about the other Death Eaters?"

Sirius hesitated, wondering if they were venturing dangerously close to whatever Dumbledore had warned him about. "We took prisoners. They're all being held in Azkaban for trial. Two escaped, one of them my cousin Bellatrix. Many of them were killed."

A tapestry of the faces of multiple different Death Eaters flashed in front of Harry's eyes. He wondered which ones were alive, which had escaped, and which were in the custody of the Order of the Phoenix. He saw Crouch's face, and felt a desire to find out whether he'd been killed. But he restrained himself, for the sake of having to utter the name Crouch out loud...

Sirius was watching his godson worriedly. He leaned forward. "Harry, did anything..." he cleared his throat. "Did anything else happen, inside the manor?"

Harry shifted, looking away. He looked uncomfortable. "No, nothing," he muttered. Sirius didn't know it, but Harry was suddenly overtaken by the horrible possibility that Snape had told Sirius what he'd seen as well as Dumbledore.

At the look on Harry's face Sirius gave up, strongly regretting his attempt. "Ron and Hermione are really excited to see you," he said gently. "Whenever you're ready."

"Let's go," said Harry. The thought of seeing their faces again was only outmeasured by the happiness he'd felt when he had seen Sirius. He followed his godfather to the infirmary door, casting Sirius's unfinished questions into the back of his mind.

"Don't expect much," Sirius warned him, his hand on the door handle. "It's hard to tell from the looks of it in here but this is actually a rather inhospitable house."

When Sirius opened the door and Harry glimpsed the hallway outside, he realized that Sirius had committed a grave understatement. They made their way out into the corridor through trailing wisps of cobwebs and spiders (some that to Harry looked too large to be normal house spiders.) They headed for the stairs at the bottom of the landing.

Harry thought he saw something move in the shadows, a dark, hunched shape that shrank behind the legs of a hall table as they passed. But when he asked Sirius to shine his wandlight there, the space was empty except for a few dangling spiders.

"I don't doubt you saw something," said Sirius, staring around them suspiciously. "It could have been Kreacher, or it could've been something else. We need to get to work on this house, before one of its older occupants gets to work on us."

"Who's Kreacher?"

"My mother's old house elf. He hates me, because I _dishonored the family name_. He never lets me forget it."

Harry gave the shadows one last glance before letting Sirius lead him into the steep, narrow stairwell.

**LOCATION UNKNOWN...**

A dull, guttering flame burned in the black iron fireplace, offering little warmth in the chill of the stony room. There were no windows; only darkness, and a motionless, coiled snake. The snake's girth was enormous. Stretched out she would have spanned the entire length of the room, with a meter to spare. Her smooth skin looked pale and fragile, as though it did not agree with being kept so often out of the sun.

There was a small sound, and the snake uncoiled, hissing gently. She raised her head and and tasted the air with her tongue. A heavily robed figure materialized in the center of the room, carrying a bundle. He placed it on the floor near the snake and unwrapped it; a live fawn fell out onto the stones, bleating pitifully and trying to stand on spindly legs.

"Enjoy, Nagini," hissed a light voice from behind the shadows of a drawn hood. "We're going to be travelling soon. It's the last good meal you'll have for a while." A pale hand reached out of the robe's sleeve to stroke Nagini's head as she regarded the fawn placidly. "That is... only for a little while, and things will begin falling into place again."

The fawn gave a scared bleat and tried once more to get to its feet. Nagini's tongue flicked out and she tasted the deer's scent, her pupils dilating and contracting in rhythm. At the next feeble movement the fawn made, she tensed her body and lunged in for the kill.

**And it continues...**


	23. Dreams and Weasleys

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

**"Dreams and Weasleys"**

Sirius led Harry past a row of decapitated heads that were hung along the wall down the stairs. Harry eyed them as he passed, but Sirius pulled him quickly past the covered portrait in the front hall. Echoes reached them from up the musty corridor, and Harry thought he could hear familiar voices. His heart rose heavily as he followed Sirius toward the noise.

"-Already done, can't you tell?"

"Thank you, but I don't know if brushing it off with the duster has really succeeded in removing all the slime, Ron."

Hermione's voice could be clearly discerned as Harry and Sirius approached the closed kitchen door. Ron's voice piped up, "If you want it done so particular, why didn't you do it yourself?"

"Come on, Ron, we've all got to do this. This isn't the worst of it, you know. The way your mom was talking, they'll be having us do the whole house. Making it fit for headquarters, now that it's needed."

Sirius raised his hand and knocked sharply on the wooden door. The voices inside went quiet. They heard a whispered, "Sshh!" and, "Is it him?"

It was Ron who appeared at the doorway, his freckled face shining as he looked at Harry. He came forward and caught Harry in a tight hug, then stepped back to look at him again. "Harry! I can't tell you how good it is to see you, mate!"

A shriek split the air, and Ron cringed, giving Harry an apologetic glance. Hermione shoved past him, flinging him to the side so that she could see Harry.

"Harry!" She shrieked again, and flew forward into his arms. Harry stumbled a little, but when she broke away he was grinning for what felt like the first time in a long time, and she was crying. "Harry, I c-can't believe it!" She wrapped around him again in another bone crushing hug, burying her tear stained face in his shoulder. Her voice was muffled when she spoke again. "We w-were so worried about you, Harry, we d-didn't kn-know what was going on, and they wouldn't let us out of this r-room! W-waiting was the worst thing I've ever d-d-done!" She was breaking down, pulling Harry down at the front.

"Hermione, give him some room!" Came Fred Weasley's voice, and his face appeared alongside the face of his twin George, behind Hermione and Ron. Ginny peered through their arms at Harry, looking delighted but extremely pale.

"He can't breathe, Hermione," insisted George with serious concern.

Hermione, her eyes and nose streaming, hiccuped and released Harry, looking up into his face. "I'm so sorry... I'm just so glad you're back," she said shakily.

"So am I," said Harry, gazing around at them. Swallowing the emotions that had arisen at the sight of his friends, he followed Hermione and the Weasleys into the kitchen, with Sirius following behind them. The kitchen was a mess, but small sections seemed to be clean and tidy. Elsewhere, broken jars littered the floor and chairs had been broken, now laying on their sides.

"Things got a little touchy for a while," said Fred, seeing him looking.

"We tried to blast out through the pantry," admitted George sheepishly. "It didn't work."

Hermione, who normally would not have condoned such raucous behavior, nodded fervently, while Ron grinned widely. For the first time since that morning, Harry found himself smiling again. It was possible to feel light hearted, looking around at the shining, familiar faces. Now in each other's presence once more, all together in one room, things didn't seem so bad. Harry was relaxing a little as he told them a lot of what had happened (leaving out many of the details, of course) and watched their faces transform with shock, anger, horror, and hope as they imagined it. Sirius listened just as intently as the rest of them, but instead of crying out questions and interrupting with exclamations of "No!" And "You can't be serious," he remained still and silent, taking in Harry's words with an increasingly brooding air.

About an hour passed, and the conversation hadn't faltered by the time another knock came on the door. Mrs. Weasley peeked through, beaming in at Harry.

"Harry, dear!" She cried, hurrying over and hugging him tightly.

"Mrs. Weasley," he greeted her, returning the embrace.

"We were very worried," she said, smoothing down his hair and straightening his collar where Hermione had ravaged it. "I'm so glad to see you up and about. And are you feeling alright, dear?"

Harry nodded yes, and Mrs. Weasley gave a joyful smile. "Wonderful to hear, so wonderful. Are you hungry?"

"Yeah, very hungry," said Harry, perking up. When had he last eaten before that bite of Pumpkin Pastry in the infirmary? He couldn't even remember.

Following a few more bustling adjustments of Harry's clothing, Mrs. Weasley got to work in the kitchen with the makings of lunch.

It was nearing one-thirty when they all sat down at the table again, this time to an overflowing array of varying spontaneous lunch foods, a meal the likes of which would have made the Hogwarts house elves ripe with envy. Harry dove into a plate topped with stir-fried peppers and onions, marinated chicken legs, mashed potatoes, herbs and carrots, a generous helping of applesauce, and two pieces of garlic bread.

The others watched him stuffing his face. Ron wore a mildly amused expression like Fred and George did, but Sirius looked pained.

After Harry had worked his way through the chicken, onions and bread, he slowed, wiping his mouth as he finished swallowing a large bite of potatoes.

"Are you ready for the entree?" Teased Fred.

Harry drank some water and sat back, feeling full. "Thanks, Mrs. Weasley," he told her. "That was really good." He looked around the dinner table at the empty spaces. "Where's everyone else?"

"Closed meeting," Sirius supplied, and Harry noticed that he hadn't eaten very much off his own plate. "I've actually been missing it, I should go."

Harry put down his napkin and nodded. They shared eye contact for a minute, and Harry wanted to ask if Sirius was alright, but his godfather had stood. Before leaving, Sirius bent low so that only Harry could hear him. "If you ever want to talk, Harry... you know I'm here. Don't hesitate, alright?"

After Sirius left and the others were done picking at their plates, they got to work cleaning up, which only took ten minutes or so with the aid of Mrs. Weasley's wandwork. When the last plates had been put away and the cutting boards were stowed on their shelves, Mrs. Weasley shooed them fondly away, saying, "You lot have been awake all night, though I wouldn't know it by the state of this kitchen. Off with you, get some sleep before I need your help this afternoon. We're getting started on some of the nastier rooms around here before dinner!" She softened her voice for Harry. "Are you tired, Harry dear? The others have been awake all night, they need the rest. You can stay here with me, if you like, and of course you don't have to do any cleaning, dear."

"I'll go with Ron," said Harry. "I'm pretty tired."

"Very good, dear." She cupped his cheek. "Rest up. If there's anything you need, you know where I'll be."

"Thanks, Mrs. Weasley."

And they left, filing down the hallway and up the stairs (Fred and George, the only ones carrying wands, kept them directed warily at the shadows surrounding them). Ron and Harry were sharing a room, while Hermione and Ginny shared, and Fred and George on the floor above them. Yawning and stretching as though it was late at night, they disappeared into their respective quarters with a few last, sleepy words to Harry.

Harry followed Ron into their bedroom and walked across the creaking floor to one of the beds. Now that he was alone with Ron, his tiredness had vanished and his apprehension had returned. He couldn't imagine talking to Ron about what had happened with Crouch at the manor, but how could their friendship ever be the same, if such a big secret was kept between them? Just like with Sirius...

"Alright, Harry?" Asked Ron tiredly, sitting down on his own bed and shrugging sluggishly out of his thin sweater.

"Yeah," said Harry, pulling back the sheet on his own bed and sitting down. "Just thinking."

"You want to talk, mate?"

Harry shook his head. "No. Get some rest."

Ron nodded and lay back on the pillow with a deep breath, closing his eyes. Within a few moments, he was snoring loudly. In the absence of Ron's distracting influence, more unwanted thoughts began creeping in on Harry's subconscious. With them came a blanketed sense of alarm, as though if he thought about it, he would somehow be back there. He tried to keep it at bay, but it swam up on him like an entity unto itself.

Where was Voldemort now?

Was he just as strong as he had been, or had Sirius weakened him? Would he be making himself known to them again soon?

Was Crouch's son still alive?

Harry's mind turned over and over, making him feel queasy and stirring up a dull aching in his head. His scar twinged painfully and he reached up to rub it with a deep frown. It twinged again.

Harry lay back on his pillow with a loud squeaking of mattress springs. Ron gave a grunting snort from the other bed, turning onto his side.

Harry stared at the ceiling, unmoving, wishing the Order meeting would come to an end so he could get up and go back downstairs to see everyone he hadn't yet seen. Anything to take his mind off other things.

He listened to the lulling sounds of Ron's snoring nearby, letting it drown out the aching in his scar. He didn't even realize he was growing drowsy before he had drifted off into a light sleep.

C_rouch was above him, reaching down._

_Harry shouted, trying to wiggle out from underneath, but his body was paralyzed-he was tied down._

_Crouch's hand drew nearer and a terrible fear welled up in Harry. He let out a yell and tried to kick, tried to punch, but neither his arms nor his legs would move._

_Crouch was laughing, and Harry was struggling, and Crouch's eyes were burning red, with slits for pupils..._

_Then the scene began to dissolve and change-stone walls became thick forests, stretching out to the horizon under a covering of powdery snow._

_Now, he was somewhere very quiet and chilled. It was nighttime, and above him stars twinkled in the dark, vast expanse. He was surrounded by snow covered pine trees on rolling, white hills, and he was alone except for the dark form of a long snake in the snow beside him. The snake wound and curled about his legs, hissing and spitting, and a dazzling array of dancing green light broke across the sky above them._

_Harry reached down to pet her, and his pale, spidery hand glowed in the light of the aurora borealis. "I know, my love," he told her in a cold, high pitched voice. "Soon. You will know my reasons soon enough. Their headmaster is still at Hogwarts, with his champions. They won't be returning just yet, I don't believe. Not with the international traffic bans." The snake hissed, and Harry smiled mirthlessly. "All I want are a few of them. Strong, young men, ripe for the taking. Certain youths who would follow their idol Grindelwald to his grave if the circumstances arose. Youths who will help me bring Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix to the ground."_

_Harry crested the top of a hill and looked down into a glacial valley, surrounded on all sides by peaks. An icy lake stretched across half the valley, and Karkaroff's school was built into the side of the mountain. Spiking up into the sky with its turrets and towers, Durmstrang was equal to if not larger than the size of Hogwarts. Yellow lights flickered and danced in the black windows._

_An impressive wrought-iron fence encompassed the entire valley, and Harry could see a tall gate down the slope through which entrance could be attained. He bent down and pet the snake on the forehead, hissing. "Go, Nagini."_

**Chapter 24 to arrive shortly!**


	24. Something True

**Chapter Twenty Four**

**"Something True"**

Harry bolted upright in bed, sweaty and shaking. Breathing hard, he pushed his damp hair out of his eyes and looked quickly around the room. While he slept, someone had placed a pair of glasses on the bedside table, which Harry snatched up and pushed on without thinking twice.

Ron was still soundly asleep in the other bed, and through the window it looked to be late afternoon. Harry toyed with the idea of waking him up and telling him about the dream, but quickly decided against it. It was only a dream... only a dream. Harry rubbed his chest and breathed deep, trying to slow his heart rate as he blinked the frightening scene away.

_But it was so real..._

Harry shook his head. Just a dream. A strange one, but nothing more...

Harry got out of bed and made his way across the floor to the dresser. He stared at his pale reflection in the mirror, leaning closer to inspect. The scar over his temple had faded completely, for which he was thankful; one scar was bad enough. Harry lifted up the front of his shirt and examined the damages to his chest and sides, turning so he could see more clearly. Those scars were much darker, and would take longer to disappear. He ran his hand over them, deep in thought, when a sly voice issuing from the mirror frame caused him to yelp and jump backward, knocking over a lampshade. "You might want to do something about that."

At the crash of the lamp falling from the dresser, Ron jolted awake. "Wha...?" He grunted, blinking heavily and staring around until his eyes found Harry. "Wha's goin' on?"

Harry stared at the empty mirror. "Hello?" He said loudly. The mirror was silent.

Ron sat up in bed, becoming more fully awake and fixing Harry with a puzzled look. "What are you doing, Harry?"

"The mirror, it-it spoke," said Harry. "Just now, it said something!"

Ron stared at Harry and the mirror, and then shrugged. "It happens."

Harry shook his head, rubbing his temple with one last look at the empty mirror frame.

"What time is it?" Asked Ron with a long yawn and a stretch.

"Around 4, I think."

There was a squeak as Ron got off the bed, stretching again. "That's enough sleep for me. What do you say we go wake the twins? They'll hate us for it, but they'd do it to us if it was them up first."

"Yeah," said Harry, still pushing down the uneasiness from the dream. After rousting the twins out of a peaceful slumber, and being knocked around by them down a few flights of stairs all the way to the ground level, he was beginning to feel a little less disturbed. Hermione and Ginny still slept somewhere above them, but Ron had wanted to let them sleep a while longer, so they hadn't woken them.

In the hallway at the bottom of the stairs they ran into Sirius, who was bidding goodbye to someone leaving through the front door. Sirius was looking-if possible-even more haggard and worn than he had before he'd rushed off to the meeting. When he saw Harry and the Weasleys coming he rearranged his face and met them with a strained smile. "I see Kreacher must have brought you those," he said to Harry, noting the glasses. "Are they the right prescription?"

"Yeah, they're exactly like my old ones," said Harry as Sirius fell into step with them.

"Any news on You Know Who?" Asked Fred pointedly, trying to peer through the panes of glass in the door to see who had departed.

"No," said Sirius heavily, still eyeing Harry. "We don't know anything yet."

"Well... George and I have somewhere to be," supplied Fred mysteriously.

"Tell everyone we'll see them in a bit," said George, clapping Harry gently on the shoulder.

The twins headed down an adjacent hallway into the darkness. Sirius watched them go, vaguely considering asking them where they were going, but he decided against it. They could take care of themselves, he supposed. Sirius looked back down at Harry, who was watching them go with mild curiosity.

"We really don't know anything yet," said Sirius glumly. "I don't know what they think they're off to find out, but we're treading water right now..."

Harry resolved right then to talk with Sirius about the dream he'd had. If he should tell anyone at all, it was Sirius...

The three of them made their way down the hallway toward the kitchen, where they could hear more loud voices. Upon entering, Harry saw that there weren't very many people there, but some of them were in such energetic states of glee that their voices carried quite far into the house. Remus Lupin was seated at one of the tables, pouring over a small, black book, impervious to the elevated chatter.

When the kitchen door opened, everyone looked up and the chatter immediately abated. Harry felt all eyes in the room turn to him. He looked awkwardly around at the unfamiliar faces, all of them shining in happiness at seeing him there. He wondered if he should say something to them, introduce himself, but he didn't have time to think about what he should say before he heard from across the room, "Harry-over here."

Lupin had set down his book, and was calling Harry from across the room. Sirius put a hand on Harry's shoulder, steering him across the room under the rapt gazes of its occupants. Lupin stood to receive them, and reached out to shake Harry's hand. Harry noticed that Lupin had subtly slipped the mysterious black book into a pocket in his cloak.

"Harry, let me introduce you to everyone," said Lupin apologetically. Harry let his one-time Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher lead him by the shoulder over to the first few people in the room whom Harry had never met. "This is Nymphadora Tonks. She works in the Ministry as an Auror, and for Dumbledore in the Order of the Phoenix."

She was a small-framed, pointed nosed young woman with short, bright pink spikes of hair and a dark purple jacket. She was glaring at Lupin through grayish blue eyes. "What did you call me?" She asked sharply.

Lupin grinned at Harry. "She prefers to go by her surname only."

Tonks rolled her eyes and shook Harry's hand, giving him a smile. "So would you, if your fool of a mother had called you _Nymphadora. _How are you, Harry?"

"Fine," said Harry. "Nice to meet you."

"Over here is the Ministry's Kingsley Shacklebolt, he was there at the manor last night. He obtained the capture of several of Voldemort's key followers."

Kingsley was a large, black skinned man with a kind face, and a gold earring in his right ear. He shook Harry's hand tightly, nodding his head. "We're so glad you're alright, Mr. Potter."

"Thank you," said Harry.

Mrs. Weasley smiled at Harry from beside the stove, and next to her were the last two people to be introduced.

"Finally," said Lupin, "This is Emmeline Vance, and-have you met Dedalus Diggle?"

A very excited looking wizard beside the gray-haired Emmeline Vance danced forward, a violet top hat falling off of his head. "Mr. Potter, so good to be seeing you again, my dear boy!"

Harry shook his hand. "Good to see you."

Dedalus Diggle looked delighted and shook Harry's hand more vigorously. "The pleasure is mine, all mine. Anything you need, anything at all-"

Lupin smiled at Mr. Diggle as he and Harry peeled themselves away and returned to their corner table.

"So we've gotten some of that over with," Lupin said with a grin to Harry, who tried to grin back. Lupin sat down and Harry followed suit, lowering himself onto the bench beside Sirius.

Sirius leaned toward him. "There aren't many more introductions to be made. At least not today," he assured Harry quietly. "Most of the other Order members are out looking for the Dark Lord."

Harry thought back to his dream again. His scar gave a throb of pain as he remembered looking through Voldemort's eyes, seeing that dark, wintry landscape and the northern lights above him.

Where was the Order searching? Could he have glimpsed something true...? Should he tell the Order?

He hoped not. It was all a little too much to consider on top of everything else.

"Wish there was something we could do from here," said Ron testily. "Since you lot haven't let us leave this house."

Sirius shook his head. "No, and for once I agree with keeping you cooped up. It's too dangerous, Ron."

Harry was about to argue that point when they all heard the kitchen door creak open again, and Professor McGonagall peered in. She nodded to Harry with a hurried, "Good to see you've mostly recovered, Mr. Potter," before turning to Sirius in haste. "Remus, Sirius-they need you now. They're moving him."

The kitchen was quiet, and all the people inside were paying close attention. Sirius was already off the bench and heading toward the kitchen door, followed by Professor Lupin, and they both looked back when they reached it. "Harry, Ron-wait here." Said Sirius grimly. "I won't be long."

"Who're they moving?" Asked Ron loudly.

"Just wait here, Mr. Weasley," replied Professor McGonagall in a disapproving tone.

Sirius, Lupin and McGonagall disappeared and shut the door behind them, leaving the kitchen in silence. Harry, like Ron, was experiencing a burning desire to know what was going on.

"Come on," said Ron quietly beside him.

"What-" began Harry, but Ron held up a hand to silence him.

"Fred and George have got it figured out," whispered Ron, shooting a conspiratorial glance over his shoulder at the others in room. "If we ever want to know what's going on, we'll have to find out on our own."

Harry wondered for a second whether or not he should ignore Sirius's order that he wait in the kitchen. But only for a moment, and then his hesitation passed.

Ron was right. Not even Sirius seemed as though he wanted him in the loop, so perhaps the only real way to know was to find out for himself.

The two of them slipped casually out of the kitchen, and Harry closed the door behind them before any of the others could stop them. Now he and Ron were alone in the dampened, eerie darkness of the hallway, and the sound of their footsteps seemed to be eaten up by the peeling walls as they made their way down the hall.

"Where do you reckon they headed?" Ron whispered.

Harry looked around as they entered the front hall. It was deserted except for the wrinkly elf heads lining the wall up the stairs. "I dunno," he murmured, his eyes piercing the gloom. "Upstairs?"

But no sooner had Harry's foot touched the bottom step before he heard hushed voices from up the stairwell, getting nearer. A thudding sound reached their ears; an offbeat rhythm that shook dust off some of the house elves' noses. Ron and Harry flattened against the wall just outside the reach of the dim hall light and watched a few figures come into view from above.

The rhythmic thudding continued, and as the group came into the light Harry could start to make out their faces. Sirius, Lupin and Mad-Eye Moody flanked a small, slight form, restraining his movements with their hands and wands. At the sight of Mad-Eye, Harry felt a deep shiver in his gut, but when he was able to discern who walked between them, he felt his heart drop to somewhere between his knees.

It was Peter Pettigrew.

Harry felt his breath catch in his chest, and Ron shot him a quizzical look. "It's him!" Harry hissed, and Ron looked more closely.

"Hey, it's Scabbers-"

"He's the one who betrayed my parents! He works for Voldemort!"

"Sshh!"

They hushed as Lupin turned his head sharply toward their hiding place, listening. Then the procession had reached the landing and Lupin returned his attention to the captive.

Pettigrew was a blubbering mess. He tripped as they crossed the landing toward the front door, and turned a wet face to Sirius in a bleating protest. "Sirius... old friend... at least tell me where they're taking me!"

From what little Harry could see of Sirius's face, there would be no 'friendship' transpiring. Sirius shoved Pettigrew roughly toward the door, while Mad-Eye Moody leveled a rickety looking wand at the captive's head.

"You change, boy-you even start-and I'll kill you faster than you can flick your slimy tail," growled Moody, pulling open the front door.

Pettigrew quailed at the threat and allowed himself to be pushed out onto the front stoop by Sirius and Lupin.

Once all of them were outside, Harry and Ron could still hear and see them through the open door.

"Do you have him, Mad-Eye?" Lupin asked lightly.

"He's not going anywhere," growled Moody. And with that, Mad-Eye Moody grasped hold of Pettigrew's sleeve, and the two of them Disapparated with a _crack!_

Sirius and Lupin waited a moment, watching the empty street. Harry could hear himself breathing as he waited too, listening. Then Lupin made a small gesture, and Sirius glanced back through the open doorway toward where Harry and Ron were hidden in the shadows. He shook his head and stepped back inside, with Lupin right behind him. They came toward Harry and Ron, who stopped breathing.

"You can come out," said Lupin mildly, with a sideways look at Sirius. "I heard you earlier. Wolf ears, you know."

**Review, dolls!**


	25. Caution and Curiosity

**Chapter Twenty-Five**

**"Caution and Curiosity"**

Over the next couple of days, Harry and Ron continued their attempts at private investigation. Sirius spent a lot of time in the background, not engaging, but leaving his face buried in different books for hours a day. Harry felt a painful distance between them, and he knew it was his fault; every time he would approach Sirius, his godfather would look up receptively and sit a little straighter, but Harry would clear his throat and turn away instead, or pretend he had wanted to ask Sirius about something irrelevent.

Fred and George Weasley popped in and out, never offering an explanation for their absences. Harry knew they couldn't be leaving headquarters when they disappeared because by now he knew that the security around the house was impermeable and complete. The only thing that made sense was that they had claimed some dusty room somewhere as their own, and were working on something away from prying eyes. Harry burned with curiosity to know what they were doing, but refrained from wondering aloud with Ron and Hermione. It seemed as though everyone had quite enough to be thinking about.

None of them knew yet which Order members had been killed and injured during his rescue that night, because it was all being kept rather quiet. In an effort to distract her inquisitive children, Mrs. Weasley had begun voicing the immediate need to get the house fit to live in.

"Other wizards are out in the field risking their lives at the moment, Ron," she had snapped irritably at Ron when he complained about the impending schedule. "The least we can do is make sure they have a safe place to come back to, if they come back at all."

Her words sunk into Harry's chest. Among many details that he was keen to find out more about, he had been badly wanting to ask who was being treated in the infirmary upstairs. There were whispers around the house when people thought they weren't being overheard, and Harry had deduced that several people were still in unstable condition. He felt very responsible for them... they had been injured during an operation to rescue him.

But Harry didn't ask Mrs. Weasley yet, knowing it would make her look at him in that sad way she sometimes did. Instead, he set his mind to put all his energy into helping everyone rennovate headquarters.

On the last night of June, the eve before they were all due to start on the treacherous fourth floor bedrooms, Harry was heading upstairs to bed alone when he heard a _tap, tap, tap._

He glanced up at the window on the second floor landing and saw his snowy owl, Hedwig, standing on the ledge outside, tapping to be let in. His heart soared and he bounded across the creaking floorboards to the window, flipping the latch and pushing the pane open.

"Hedwig," he said softly, letting her ruffle her feathers against his arms. "Where have you been?"

He spotted a brown envelope clutched tightly in her claws. Frowning, he let her hop back to the windowsill so he could untie it.

Opening it, he immediately recognized Albus Dumbledore's scrawling handwriting.

_Harry,_

_I deeply apologize for keeping your owl. She came to me in the hours after the Third Task, and what she brought me may be of particular interest to you. I must, however, insist upon keeping it with me for now until I determine it has in no way been corrupted. Hedwig stayed with me at my request, for her own safety. It is no longer as safe as it once was to send mail through owl post._

_When you receive her, Professor McGonagall will be able to convey the message to me most efficiently, as I am currently beyond more conventional methods of communication. I hope you are well, Harry, and I will be seeing you in a few days._

_Yours,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

Harry folded up the letter and slipped it into his pocket. Now even more questions seared through his mind. What had Hedwig delivered to Dumbledore? He wished the headmaster had been more clear, but Harry knew that to put too much information in a letter right now was a dangerous mistake. Still, the cryptic message irked him...

Hedwig gave a low hoot, and rubbed her head against Harry's arm again. He bit his lip in thought as he reached out to let her hop on. Once upstairs, he pulled her cage out from inside the closet and set it up by the window, filling her bowls with water and some owl treats. She'd been carrying mail, so Harry knew she probably wouldn't have eaten any mice on the way here. He would have to let her out again tonight to hunt.

Ron wasn't far behind Harry. He came in, stretching and yawning.

"What did your mom want?" Asked Harry.

"Nothing important," said Ron through his yawn. "She wanted to make sure I get a good rest tonight so I can be up early, and get a head start." He yawned once more. "Like I need a reminder. I'm exhausted."

Ron stabbed the fire with a metal rod on his way by, illiciting a feeble spark of flame that quickly diminished into an ember again. Ron rolled his eyes, shivering. "Isn't Kreacher supposed to be taking care of this place?"

"I still haven't met him," said Harry. "Does he stay hidden most of the time?" Not like Dobby.

"Yes he does, and be thankful," said Ron sourly. "Never stops going on about the filthy blood traitors who've overtaken the house of his Mistress. He looks at us like he'd like to see us roasting over his fire. He's probably leaving out our fires on purpose, hoping we'll freeze to death overnight."

Harry shook his head. "Why doesn't Sirius get rid of him?"

"Can't. Kreacher's been in on Order meetings and everything. He's heard too much, and he knows this is headquarters."

Harry threw Ron a folded blanket off the end of his bed. "Take this. I won't need it, and your blanket's thinner than mine."

Ron took it gratefully. Then he seemed to realize for the first time that Hedwig was sitting in her cage by the window. "Where did she come from?"

"Dumbledore. He didn't tell me where he was, but she's been with him."

Ron shrugged. "I thought he was still at headquarters." He sat down on his bed with a creak. "Is it just me, or do they tell us less than nothing?"

The two of them discussed their lack of information as Harry let Hedwig out of her cage, opened the window and started getting ready for bed. The big owl soared off into the darkness without a backward glance, and Harry experienced an unfamiliar pang of worry in his chest for her safety. He watched her until she disappeared, and turned to find Ron had dozed off on his pillow, fully dressed (shoes and all.)

**ELSEWHERE IN THE HOUSE...**

Sirius Black shrugged out of his over-shirt and bent over the dying fire, stoking it roughly. It sputtered and burst, but after a moment the weak flames began reaching back up the wood fibers and gaining strength. Deep in thought, Sirius watched the growing flames through shadowy eyes. Once he could feel the warmth beginning to build, he backed away and lay down the poker.

There was a gentle knocking at the door.

"Come in," called Sirius shortly.

The door swung open and Lupin stepped in, shutting it behind him.

"Did you need something?" Sirius asked sharply.

Lupin raised his eyebrows at the unnecessary clip in his friend's tone. "I wanted to talk to you," he answered coolly. "You haven't seemed yourself, Sirius."

After a moment, Sirius dropped his gaze and sighed reaching for the poker again to rearrange the firewood. "I'm just tired," he said, and his voice was now drained of emotion.

Lupin waved his wand and pointed it at the fireplace, adding another log to Sirius's small inferno.

"Thanks."

"Of course."

Lupin took a seat in one of the fireside chairs, stretching out his feet toward the warm hearth. Sirius sat too, but stiffly. Lupin gazed seriously across the carpet at him. "So are you really holding up?"

Sirius's eyes flickered. He looked into the fire. "I'm worried."

"About Harry?"

"There's something he isn't telling me. Something that happened. He's acting...well, not himself."

Lupin didn't say anything, but he didn't look to have heard anything that hadn't already occurred to him.

"And I know I'm right, because whatever it is, Dumbledore knows." Sirius's expression turned grim. "He won't tell me what it was, but he hinted... he says Harry will talk with me about it in time. But right now, he's shutting down. He hasn't talked about any of it in days, not even to his friends."

Lupin took a deep breath, clasping his hands together in front of him. "Do you know how Harry sees you?"

Sirius glanced up from the flames.

"He thinks of you as a father. The mentor that he never had growing up. You are everything to Harry, and your strength is what keeps him strong."

Sirius looked back into the embers, as though searching them for validation.

Lupin continued softly, "Whatever you do... right now, he needs that strength. Sometimes the hardest thing to do is wait."

"Only if you're not sure what you're waiting for," murmured Sirius.

**LATER THAT NIGHT...**

Harry tossed in bed, half awake and half dreaming. He had kicked the sheet and blanket off of himself and they lay tangled on his bedpost, trailing onto the floor. He would have been freezing had he been aware, but instead his face and neck were covered in a sheen of hot sweat. His eyes rolled beneath his lids, and his bangs were plastered over his forehead, covering his scar.

His lips moved around whispered words.

_"Follow me..."_

Harry kicked out again, tossing his head to the side.

_"There is no escape from me. __No more hiding. Now, we kill them."_

_Harry was surveying a large group of men that surrounded him. They were listening raptly to his words, the ones that stayed. Some had turned to leave, and Harry had dealt with them. The others huddled closer, reaching out to touch Harry's robe, some even kneeling to the ground before him._

_His power over them was complete. They would do anything he asked of them. In fact, one or two looked rather eager when he told them where they would be travelling to do his bidding._

_Yes, they were his to use towards whatever end. In order to set this truth in stone he hissed a few words into the night, and Nagini appeared through the onlookers, slinking silently over the cold stone._

_"This is yours, Nagini," hissed Harry in Parseltongue._

_Harry stepped aside and the great snake slithered around his leg toward the dead body of a young man that lay on the ground behind him. Nagini studied the corpse for a moment before moving in. The crowd around them seemed horrified, but none of them looked away._

_"Let it be known what will happen to those who betray me," said Harry, his voice high pitched and cruel. Together at the front of the gathering were his two faithful servants, loyal through it all, staring up at him in adoration. Their faces shone with anticipation, and the black brands on their forearms shimmered and throbbed. "And if you follow me, you will learn how I reward my followers."_

"Harry! Harry, wake up, mate!"

The scene was dissolving. Harry realized he was being roughly shaken, and that he was on the ground between the two beds. His scar was paining him ferociously, sending bolts of pain through his head. He sat up with a groan, his hands over his forehead. Ron was towering over him.

"Harry, are you awake?"

Harry rubbed his head, trying to dull the pain. "Yes," he ground out. Then his dream came rushing back to him and he let out a gasp, getting unsteadily to his feet.

"What is it-?" Ron began uncertainly.

"He's alive!" Gasped Harry, his heart hammering madly.

"Who? Who's alive?"

"Crouch. He's alive, and he's with Voldemort."

**Please review.**


	26. Convergence

**Thank you SO MUCH, everyone!**

**Chapter Twenty-Six**

**"Convergence"**

Aleksandar Bukhalov trudged through the deep snow without looking back. His cheeks were chapped and red and his breath froze when it hit the cold air, misting away into the night. But he didn't slow down. It had started to snow, and the huge flakes fell gently around him as he forced his way hurriedly down the slope toward the base of the mountain.

He knew his time was limited, so when he reached level ground he only stopped for a moment, turning around to look back up the face of the mountain. Stretching all the way up the slope behind him like a gash was the trail he had forged through the snow, splitting the mountain in two under the bright light of the moon. Aleksandar aimed his wand, erasing all traces of his passing.

Without waiting another minute, he resumed his steady pace, following the glacial valley as it curved around toward the town of Karnobat and the frozen river Ishkar. As soon as he could see moonlight glinting off of the river he stopped, once more pulling out his wand.

With a few whispered words, a silvery Patronus in the shape of an osprey shot forth into the darkness, sweeping away from Aleksandar toward the sleeping town.

Only moments later, it returned to him. When he saw it, he rushed forward expectantly. It soared near him and circled back around, flapping expansive wings. Seeming to have gotten what he wanted, Aleksandar turned a worried face to the city ahead of him, nestled in between the surrounding peaks.

Soon a figure could be seen emerging from the darkness. Aleksandar tensed and waited until he could see who it was before coming forward. The newcomer seemed taken aback by Aleksandar's abrupt approach, and he raised his wand with a muttered, "Lumos!"

"No!" Hissed Aleksandar. "I told you not to use any light!"

The light vanished. "Alek, what in hell are you doing? Are you trying to scare my wife to death?"

"I'm sorry, but a Patronus was the only way. We have to leave, right now."

"Leave, why on earth-? What's gotten into you, brother? Won't you be punished when they find out you snuck down here in the dead of-?"

"Durmstrang isn't a school anymore, Rik. It's been taken."

"Taken? By who?"

"By him."

There was a ringing silence as Heidrik Bukhalov surveyed his younger brother through narrowed eyes. "Who do you mean?"

Aleksandar glared. "Exactly who you think."

Heidrik shook his head, shifting disbelievingly. "How could that be possible?"

"Father always said it was only a matter of time until he showed his face again. It's him, I swear it."

Heidrik stared, somewhat dumbfounded and trying to regain control. His eyes shifted around them as he absorbed the revelation, and suddenly he was grasping Aleksandar by the sleeve and pulling him toward Karnobat. "We'll go to London. My cousins will take us until all of this blows over."

"Nothing's blowing over! We have to get out of here! Right now!" But Aleksandar let himself be dragged across the ground none the less. "You know what will happen when even a single Death Eater finds out I deserted."

"You can't desert if you never gave your allegiance," Heidrich grunted, yanking harder. "I'm not leaving Elena."

They slipped and slid down into the valley, skirting the desolate banks of the Ishkar until they reached the city's edge. The streets were dark and abandoned, and there were no glimmers of light shining from behind the drawn curtains of the quiet houses. Heidrik led the way silently, pointing his finger toward a back alley between two squat homes. Aleksandar nodded and followed. His eyes were wary as he kept watch behind them.

The only light to be seen came from the back porch of one of the small houses.

"Why is your light on?" Moaned Aleksandar under his breath, feeling a stab of apprehension and glancing behind them again.

"Because my wife thought someone must have died!" Heidrik growled breathlessly, glaring.

Aleksandar's eyes darkened as Heidrik led him up the back porch steps. "Not just one person, Heidrik."

"Heidrik!" Came a worried voice as the back door creaked coldly open. "What's happened-? Alek?"

"Hello, Elena," said Aleksandar grimly.

"Elena, pack your bags. Quickly."

"There's no time!" Interrupted Aleksandar. "We need to go, right now!"

Elena was turning pallid. "What on earth...?"

Heidrik came forward and took her hand, his eyes serious. "We're going to London. He's come back. The Dark Lord's come back."

**NUMBER TWELVE, GRIMMAULD PLACE...**

"Potter, control yourself!"

"It wasn't a dream, Professor! I was there! I saw him!" _I WAS him. _Ron shifted nervously behind him, but Harry didn't care. "I need to talk to Professor Dumbledore," he ground out.

"Professor Dumbledore is away. He cannot be reached. You must talk with me. Tell me, Potter-"

"Voldemort's taking more followers, and there were a lot of them. He was there with Barty Crouch's son and Bellatrix Lestrange, I saw them!"

Professor McGonagall's lips were a tight, straight line as she surveyed her white faced, pajama-clad students. She had hastily wrapped a robe around herself when she heard them hammering up the staircase, but her usually tidy gray hair was dishevelled and frayed, hanging about her face in loose curls. She took a tense breath, her eyes on Harry. "Imagine for a moment that I am taking this seriously," she said tightly. "Please tell me, Potter - how were you able to access the thoughts of He Who Must Not Be Named?"

"I don't know how. I just know it was him, and it wasn't a dream!"

"For heaven's sake, keep your voice down, Potter! You are working yourself into a fit." McGonagall gestured with her hand for the boys to take a seat across from her desk.

"I'm fine," growled Harry, trying to take a steadying breath. Clenching his teeth, he slowly lowered himself into the tall backed chair she indicated with what felt like an impossibly large expense of effort.

"You're sweating and shaking, Potter. You are not fine." McGonagall sat stiffly on the other side of the desk. "Settle down, and get control of yourself."

Grudgingly, Harry tried to settle down. He shot a glance at Ron, whose expression told Harry that he wasn't the only one trying to recover.

"I am the only one who can reach Dumbledore at the moment," McGonagall continued, having regained a small measure of her composure. "But I will not do so unless there is an emergency. You have described to me what seems to have been a rather alarming experience for you, but I'm not inclined to believe that what you saw was real."

Harry felt frustration bubbling up again in his chest. He was on the edge of his chair, about to stand, when there was a loud knocking at the door. It swung open, and Sirius strode into the room in an undershirt and a jacket.

He came toward Harry, frowning. "Harry, what's going on? The twins woke me, they said you were ill, that you'd had a nightmare-"

"It wasn't a nightmare," said Harry, standing. "And I'm not ill."

"Mr. Potter has had an... encounter," said McGonagall carefully, standing as well. "It's best that you came. Perhaps you can offer your opinion, as his legal guardian." Harry saw her expression, and there was something significant in her eyes as she looked at Sirius. It was as though she was silently informing him that the twins were right.

Sirius looked from McGonagall to Harry, completely nonplussed. "What's going on, Harry?"

"I saw Voldemort," said Harry raggedly, feeling suddenly cold as his anger drained away. "He's at Durmstrang. He's there looking for followers, and he's getting them." Harry launched into another explanation of what he'd seen, and as he spoke he watched Sirius's face pale and his eyes darken with worry. "Ron woke me up," finished Harry, now feeling thoroughly self conscious. "I didn't get to see what he did next, but Crouch and Bellatrix seemed ready to Disapparate. They all did."

Sirius was biting his lip, his brow furrowed. "Harry, I..." He shook his head, seeming dazed, and looked at Professor McGonagall. "Have you contacted Dumbledore?"

McGonagall shook her head. "I wasn't sure if this would really merit an audience with Professor Dumbledore. Mr. Potter is distraught, surely he-"

"I'm distraught because of what I saw!" Growled Harry angrily.

"Harry," said Sirius, pushing the boy back toward his seat until his knees hit the edge, and he sat. "I believe you."

McGonagall's lips turned, if possible, whiter. Harry looked up at Sirius as a rush of overwhelming gratitude overcame him.

"I think we should contact Dumbledore," said Sirius. "He'll know what to do."

Under their very feet, a small, fleshy object resided in the dusty corner of McGonagall's office, turning and twisting toward each new voice. It was shaped like an ear, and from its base protruded a needle-thin, flesh-colored cord which stretched out across the floorboards until disappearing into the nearest wall. The cord had hidden itself between two dusty boards so as to be undetectable to passersby, and the appendage on the end continued to bend and twist to catch each small sound.

Unbeknownst to any of them in the room, the cord ran through the wall and joined a number of other thin cords, which formed a comprehensive network extending through most of the large house. On the end of each cord was an identical, ear-shaped attachment, each one nestled somewhere hidden in a different room. The network of cords inside the walls converged on one room in particular.

The twins' room.

**What do you think of my first original characters?**


	27. No Safe Harbor

**A/N**: I want to shout out to every reviewer that has strengthened my resolve and fortified my determination on this long journey. You are the reason this story will have a conclusion, so rest assured I will ALWAYS listen to your feedback and advice. Enjoy!

**Chapter Twenty-Seven**

**"No Safe Harbor"**

**NUMBER TWELVE, GRIMMAULD PLACE...**

"Minerva, I need you send word to Arthur Weasley, Nymphadora Tonks, and Alastar Moody. Please inform them that they are needed at headquarters immediately. This may be nothing of consequence, only a bad dream, but it must not be dismissed until we know more."

Professor Dumbledore's voice was clear and strong as it issued from the hearth, and even in Harry's agitated state it afforded him a small measure of calm. McGonagall nodded, now taking the situation a little more seriously, having seen the headmaster's grim reaction.

"Secondly, Severus needs to know what has occurred. Harry will require his assistance in this matter."

Harry felt a flare of hope. Snape would be able to see into his mind, to see what he had seen, to know he wasn't imagining it all. At the same time Harry felt a nervous twinge in his chest at the thought of letting Snape into his mind for the second time.

McGonagall had moved over to the window and was sending an invisible spell out into the darkness as Sirius got to his feet. The worry in his godfather's face reminded Harry of the gaunt man he'd met in his third year at Hogwarts. "I'll be back with Snape," said Sirius, his eyes lingering the longest on Harry. Then he hurried out of the room, and Harry watched his back until the door closed between them.

After what felt like only a moment, the floor of the hallway outside the room was creaking to signal Sirius's return. The door swung open and Sirius entered, followed by a dark-eyed Professor Snape in a black cloak. The two didn't speak to each other as they approached the fire and the people circled around it.

"Severus," intoned Dumbledore's voice from the flames. "Harry has experienced a vision of Voldemort's location, and believes he has seen Voldemort's true intentions."

It seemed that Sirius had informed Snape of the circumstances on the way back to McGonagall's quarters, because the potions professor did not flinch as he surveyed Harry's face.

"Harry," Dumbledore's voice addressed him. "The first thing we must do is ask Professor Snape to try and discern what it is you saw."

Harry's mouth felt dry. He glanced at Sirius, whose eyes spoke of his many misgivings.

"Ok," said Harry finally.

"Come here, Potter," said Snape.

Sirius's eyes flashed at the tone Snape had used, but Harry got to his feet and crossed the room, wiping his sweaty hands on the sides of his pants. Snape led him back to McGonagall's desk, and took a seat across from him, leaning forward. Harry was painfully aware of everyone watching him as Snape fixed him with a steady gaze.

"Relax your body and mind, Potter," Snape instructed him, and Harry felt the professor's stare begin to grow heavier. He shifted, but held the gaze, trying to relax. "Now I am going to penetrate your mind. You must allow this to happen."

Harry shifted nervously again, feeling clammy sweat break out on his forehead. He glanced over at Ron, who sat huddled beside Professor McGonagall wearing a look of utmost terror. Sirius' eyes offered him no reassurance either, but Harry turned back to Snape, swallowing. "I'm ready," he said, trying to sound sure, but his voice cracked.

Snape leaned toward Harry, who noticed a slick wand had appeared in the professor's right hand. "Try not to blink, Potter," said Snape in a level voice. He muttered something under his breath without breaking their eye contact. Suddenly, the room before Harry was gone, and playing all around him, through him, were the shimmering images of the memories of his recent past. He tried to stop what was happening, but Harry had no control of what he was seeing. He couldn't feel his body or find his voice.

The darkness of the Malfoy manor closed in around him, and he felt the cold, damp floor under him and the shackles around his wrists. The world dissolved rapidly, and he was standing on a cold floor in a dark room, facing Voldemort. He heard Voldemort's echoing voice, and the laughter of all the Death Eaters resounded around him as the scene changed again, sweeping him somewhere darker. He tried to claw his way out of the nightmarish place, but he was trapped against the wall, immobilized by strong arms and a strong body. There were words being whispered into his ear, and a hand on his stomach, feeling his skin, lowering further... Crouch's face was coming closer, and closer...

"NO! THAT'S NOT IT! THAT'S NOT IT!"

Harry only vaguely recognized that it was his own voice he was hearing as the memories were abruptly swept away from him and the room returned to the present time. Harry was standing, his chest heaving as he stared across the desk at Snape. Sirius had risen from his chair beside the fire, looking torn and angry, ready to intervene. "Is this really necessary?" Barked Sirius angrily, glaring at the potions master.

"Yes, it is necessary," came Dumbledore's voice from the fire. "Harry, please try to calm down."

"That wasn't part of it!" Harry gasped furiously, his eyes darting from Sirius to Snape. He took a step back. "I didn't agree to-"

Snape did not stand, and his eyes bore into Harry's. "The art of Legilimency is not exact," He said calmly. "I apologize, Harry, but a mind is not an open book. You must allow me in if you want me to find the dream."

Perhaps it was Snape's use of his first name, or perhaps it was the knowledge that Snape was telling the truth that brought Harry reluctantly back to his chair. "Don't do that again," said Harry bleakly, his eyes shining.

"I will do my best to be precise," Snape assured him coolly, folding his hands in front of him on the desk. "And you must allow it to happen. _Legilimens!"_

**SOMEWHERE INSIDE THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC...**

"Roger, get ready! We got three unauthorized travellers inbound, get up! Get up!"

Roger Rigby jumped to his feet, spilling his copy of the _Daily Prophet_ onto the polished wood floor. One of his few duties as of late was monitoring the enforcement of the International Travel Ban, and he had fallen asleep in his chair. He scrambled to gather his composure as the flying paper memo that had delivered his message flew distractingly around his head, repeating quips of, "Get up! Get up!"

He pulled on a light cloak and headed out into the wide, arching hallway of the Ministry of Magic to meet his colleagues and confront the law-breakers. His two partners swarmed on him as soon as he reached the lobby level.

"Who do you think it is?" Asked Monica La Vier. She was the only female employee in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. "You Know 'Oo?"

"Definitely not," Roger assured her. "He wouldn't come here by traditional means, if he's even alive."

She seemed pacified as the small group left the Ministry through the front door, which bore a large sign reading, **'ALL NONESSENTIAL MINISTRY PERSONNEL ARE HEREBY RELEASED FROM EMPLOYMENT, EFFECTIVE AS OF JUNE 15TH, PENDING FURTHER NEWS REGARDING HE-WHO-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED. THOSE WHOSE SERVICES ARE STILL REQUIRED HAVE ALREADY BEEN NOTIFIED.'**

Upon leaving the eerily silent Ministry lobby behind them, the group took one last moment to synchronize before Disapparating simultaneously from the shadowy London street. A street lamp across the road flickered as a moth met it's end there, but there was no sign that anything out of the ordinary had occurred and there were no rustlings behind the nearby Muggle curtains.

Roger Apparated with a loud _crack! _As his colleagues Apparated around him, he looked around for any sign of covert movement. They were just outside Marshal Meadows Bay and the air was crisp with dew, but silent and still.

"Don't anybody move yet," Roger advised in an undertone, his eyes casting sharply around them. "They'll be right here..."

At once, there was a flurry of noise as a bulky shape flew downward toward them, depositing several haphazard travellers onto the cold pavement about a block away. The strangers had used a Portkey, an unauthorized one at that, during an International Travel Ban, and Roger was ready to deliver the long arm of the law when he noticed that one of the sillhoetted travellers was much smaller than the other two. A student? Roger felt a twinge of sympathy and glanced sideways at Monica, whose daughter was stuck at school in France.

"Come on," Roger muttered to the others as the foreigners began collecting themselves at a distance and getting to their feet. Roger drew his wand and held it firmly before him as he and his colleagues surrounded their disoriented charges.

"Put your wands on the ground at your feet," said Roger sternly, stepping forward into the wandlight of one of the strangers. At close range, he could see he had been right about the youngest of the three; the boy couldn't have been older than fifteen.

The strangers started and squared themselves into a defensive position. The eldest, who looked to be in his late twenties, did not drop his wand but held it steady, facing Roger.

"Put your wands on the ground and don't move," repeated Roger, more clearly. "You've committed a serious infraction, and you'll have to come with us, for your safety and for ours."

The travellers drew closer together, looking afraid and confused. Now that Roger was studying them more carefully, he had determined that the middle figure was a female, hidden beneath a cloak and hood that were much too heavy for the summer climate.

"You won't be harmed," Roger assured them, trying to get a good look at the leader's face behind his scarf. "You'll be taken to the Ministry of Magic and questioned, and it will be decided what to do with you from there."

The man holding the lit wand still did not drop it to the ground. He spoke in a foreign language, gesturing sharply with the wand, and then indicating himself and his companions.

"Where are you from?" Asked Roger sternly.

"Russia." Grunted the man with the wand. He pointed his wand at himself, eyeing the Ministry workers suspiciously. "Heidrik Bukhalov." He pointed at the two others with him. "Aleksandar, en Elena."

"Heidrik, you need to come with us immediately," insisted Roger firmly. "If you can understand me, please tell your friends that we will be transporting you to the Ministry of Magic Department of Law Enforcement. You've broken the law, sir."

Heidrik shook his head, his eyes wide. "Zeh duken disch!" he said loudly, but the woman beside him interrupted him, pulling aside her head scarf and releasing wavy locks of raven hair. She spoke directly to Roger in heavily accented English.

"Zeh Dark Lord is taking follov-followers at Durmstrang School." She reached sideways and placed her hand on her companion's wand arm, lowering it's aim to the ground. "Maybe ve can discuss matter in your Meenistry off Magic, but we must discuss vith you."

Roger almost dropped his wand. "Have you-have you seen He Who Must Not Be Named?"

Elena nodded eagerly, pleased that her English had been understood. "Ve have not-me and Heidrik-but Aleksandar has."

Roger eyed the youngest of the travelers. The boy was quiet, but he met Roger's gaze defiantly none the less.

"Do either of them speak any English?" Roger asked Elena.

Elena shook her head apologetically. "Ve vonted only to reach Heidrik's family in Great Britain. Ve vill be safe there."

Roger shook his head. "I'm sorry, but all of you will have to accompany us to the Ministry, especially considering the information you're carrying."

Elena looked scared. "Please," she said softly. "All ve vont is to be safe."

"Well, there's plenty of safe harbor where we're taking you at the Ministry,"said Roger flatly. "I don't have a choice. I'm bringing you in."

The three Law Enforcers drew closer around the three travelers, and Roger made a movement with his wand. Heidrik's wand flew out of his hand despite his lunge to grab for it, and the wands of the other two zoomed out of their pockets and straight to Roger. "I'll have to secure you, only for the trip in," he explained, as thin cords materialized out of the air to wrap themselves around the wrists of the foreigners. All three looked outraged, and immediately began to fight the restraints. Heidrik let loose a string of unintelligible yells that could only have meant something very insulting, but the cords prevented any real damage from being done as the Ministry workers came forward, each placing a hand on whichever of their charges was closest.

There was a loud series of _cracks_ as the entire company Disapparated.

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	28. Torn

**Chapter Twenty-Eight **

**"Torn"**

_Harry knew when Snape touched on the dream, because it felt so foreign. He saw flashes of a barren, wintry scene through cold, hard eyes, and the hatred that filled him was someone else's entirely. As he relived the nightmare he retained his sense of self, unlike when he had seen it the first time, but even so he felt dread filling him as he watched through Voldemort's eyes and spoke in his snake-like tone. His apprehension doubled when he realized he was looking down at Barty Crouch and Bellatrix Lestrange._

_Forgetting Snape's presence, Harry studied Crouch, now that he could do so consciously. Crouch's cloak was darkened with dried blood at the sleeve, and tied off unceremoniously with twine just below the elbow. His lower arm was missing, and his eyes were fierce with the promise of retribution as he looked up at Harry. Or rather, at Voldemort._

_"Let it be known what will happen to those who betray me," Voldemort was saying, his glare resting on Crouch. Crouch's face melted into an expression of thankful adoration, and Voldemort let the moment pass. "And if you follow me," he continued in a soft voice, "You will learn how I reward my followers."_

_Now the dream was over. Harry remembered how he had heard Ron's voice break through the dream, trying to rouse him. But this time, there was only silence, and a strange, prolonged sense of frozen time as he surveyed the faces turned up to him, all of them glowing in the faint northern lights from above. _

_The moment stretched on and then broke painfully. Suddenly, the world around Harry had tipped upside down, whirling around him and sucking the very air out of his lungs. He wanted to scream, but he had no air - the spiralling, howling colors ripped at him, inside and out, spinning him like a top into an uncontrolled descent._

_And then the chaos subsided, just as quickly as it had begun._

_Harry was in a small, comfortably furnished room that was gently lit by a crackling fire in the hearth. _

_All the curtains were drawn over the windows, and the front door to the inn was locked tightly._

_The new Death Eaters were seated around the room, most of them stiff-backed and unrelaxed. Bellatrix and Bartemius were together across the room in a cozy, cusiony corner of the common area, both of them wearing gleeful smiles as they tussled with two Muggles between them. _

_There was a boy, about sixteen, and a girl who was probably two years his senior. They looked wide eyed and afraid as the two Death Eaters prodded them with their wands, tossing around insults and racy insinuations. _

_Harry had resigned to allow them their fun, as long as it didn't slow him down. They had, after all, successfully crossed the border into Europe without challenge. He'd known they would... Dark Magic always had a way of being unexpectedly misunderstood. _

_The newest Death Eaters seemed antsy as the panicked protests issuing from Bellatrix's corner filled the small room. Many of them continued to throw uncertain glances at the proceedings, their eyes narrowed and their faces drawn._

_Harry felt an inner touch of amusement. They would learn soon enough... they would be hungry for so much more, in due time..._

_The Muggle boy in the corner was becoming more and more agitated. He kept trying to get between Bellatrix's wand and the girl at his side, shoving her backward, but Crouch's waiting arms snatched her up from behind, spinning her playfully around and pushing her back toward Bellatrix with a laugh._

_"Where is my mother?" The girl was crying, recoiling toward her friend as much as possible. "What's happened to them? Where is Bernice?"_

_"You should've said goodbye to them when you had the chance," cooed Bellatrix cruelly, pointing her wand at the Muggle girl's apron and untying it with one flick of her wrist. It flew into the air and wrapped around the boy's shoulders, tightening around his throat._

_The room echoed with Crouch's laughter and Bellatrix's taunts as the boy tried to tear the cloth away from his face. It fell away suddenly, taking his vest with it to the floor where the garments fell in a heap, completely unanimated._

_Both the boy and the girl were crying now. Crouch and Bellatrix were on their feet, circling around the pair of Muggles, prodding them with their wands and occasionally sending a spell into their frantic midst, toying with them._

_Of course, they would never see their parents again. He had killed all the Muggles that had been in the tiny roadside inn when they arrived; all except these two, who may soon be wishing they'd been murdered alongside their families. _

_There was a distant rumble of thunder, and Harry stood. He crossed the room and pulled back a curtain with one long finger, peering out into the dark nighttime sky. The dome above was obscured by thick clouds, and the imminent threat of a heavy thunderstorm was thick in the air. Harry smiled. These conditions were ideal for their return to Great Britain._

_The rain started to hit the inn windows as Harry turned back around. Crouch and Bellatrix had quieted their activities momentarily to watch him in anticipation, and even the Muggles had quieted, becoming as still as statues in response to the welcome reprieve. _

_"Pack up," said Harry in a soft, cold voice. "We leave before the morning."_

_Crouch and Bellatrix exchanged looks of excitement; especially Crouch, whose eyes started to burn fiercely in the firelight. _

_"It is time," Harry said, speaking specifically to Crouch. "You will prove your worth to me, Bartemius. Again. And this time..." he let the silence stretch on as the hackles rose on all his nervous, new followers. "You won't disappoint me."_

_Crouch nodded fervently, reaching sideways to grasp the arm of the shaking Muggle boy. "What about him?"_

_Harry raised one eyebrow. "We'll bring him. We could all benefit from a steady reminder of just what it is we're fighting for."_

_The Muggle shrank in fear as Crouch leered triumphantly at him. Harry knew what it was Crouch wanted, and he wouldn't stop it, but that courtesy reached an end where the Potter boy was concerned._

_At the thought of his adversary, a strange sensation crept through him. There was a pulling at the edges of his mind... an unfamiliar warmth there, an uninvited presence... Harry latched onto it, gripping it with practiced skill and holding it there. It struggled and tried to retreat, but he held onto it, diving further in upon himself to confront the unexpected intrusion._

Sirius Black sat stiffly on the edge of his seat, his worried eyes fixed on his godson. There was nothing he could do to make this any easier, and it ate away at him inside. He couldn't help Harry inside the Malfoy manor, and he couldn't help him now.

Harry and Snape were eye to eye, neither one moving. Obviously Harry had resigned himself to the process, because there were no more outbursts, though Sirius could see the boy's facial expressions were not blank; every few seconds his eyebrows would furrow, or his lips would twitch in a frown. Sirius would have given almost anything to know what was going on in Harry's mind.

It seemed to go on for a very long time. Snape leaned further forward at one point across the desk, his knuckles whitening around his wand, and Harry gave a small shudder at the same moment, but then they were still again.

Sirius ground his teeth and shifted on his chair, feeling like he should be closer to Harry. "How long should this take?" He asked the fireplace tensely.

"It shouldn't be too much longer," answered Dumbledore's voice, and Sirius was unnerved to hear that the headmaster sounded a lot less certain than usual.

Seemingly at the sound of voices, there was a reaction from across the room where Harry sat with Snape. Out of the silence came a loud scraping as Harry pushed back across the floor in his chair, his eye contact with Snape suddenly broken as his breathing hitched.

Snape came violently out of the reverie and rose unsteadily from his chair. "Potter-" He began heatedly.

Something was wrong. Harry gave a shout and stood, stumbling blindly out of his chair, tripping over the leg of it and landing hard on the floor. Sirius was on his feet in the blink of an eye. He rushed forward toward Harry and knelt over him, trying to help him sit up, but Harry pushed his arms away, his eyes wide and unseeing, and his chest heaving.

"Harry!" Gasped Sirius loudly, trying to calm him. "Harry, it's me!"

Snape swept downward, shunting Sirius out of the way.

"What did you do to him?" Sirius shouted, as Snape held Harry still by the shoulders. Snape didn't respond. He reached down and gripped Harry's chin to keep his head still, and then raised one of Harry eyelids. Harry's head rolled when Snape let it go.

"Professor Dumbledore!" Snape said sharply without looking away from Harry's face. "You were right. Potter's mind is linked to the Dark Lord's mind. The Death Eaters are in Europe, and they'll be here by morning."

"Severus, you must extinguish this connection right now!" Dumbledore's voice declared immediately.

"I know, headmaster. But the Dark Lord sensed us in his mind. Potter may not come out of this... not unless..."

"Dumbledore," growled Sirius, his chest swelling with anger and alarm. "What's going on?"

"I'll be at headquarters within the hour," said Dumbledore, instead of answering Sirius's question. "Keep trying, Severus. Get him back, before Voldemort extracts the information he needs."

There was a sputtering as Dumbledore's presence in the fireplace came to a quick end. Sirius bent over Harry again opposite Snape, whose hands were still on either side of Harry's face, trying to keep the boy still so he could reestablish a Legilimentic link. Sirius stared down at Harry's eyes, which moved from side to side without focusing on either of them. Harry's mouth was open and his breathing was fast, as though he was afraid.

"Harry..." Sirius muttered. "Harry, come on... fight it. You're strong enough..."

Harry's eyelids fluttered and he gave a low moan, trying to free his arms from Snape's grasp. Snape glanced up at Sirius as though struck by an idea. "Black, keep talking to him," he said, and the curtness in his voice was overshadowed by the worry in his eyes. He moved aside minimally to allow Sirius the space. "Speak his name."

Sirius, his hands shaking, put one hand under Harry's chin to stop him from turning away, and the other on Harry's shoulder. "Harry..." he said, his voice stronger. "Fight him, Harry. Come back, don't give in. Fight him, Harry!"

Harry gave a long shudder, his eyes closing.

"No!" Sirius gasped, and without thinking he drew his hand back and slapped the side of Harry's face.

Harry sputtered breathlessly, and his eyes opened. Sirius froze as Harry's gaze roved over him.

"Harry..." Sirius rasped, cupping Harry's cheek where he'd struck him. "Harry?"

Harry's gaze locked on Sirius, and with an explosive rush of relief, Sirius knew his godson was returning from wherever he had been.

"What...?" Harry's voice cracked.

"He's alright!" Professor McGonagall squeaked shrilly from beside Ron near the hearth. She sounded broken and exhausted.

"Don't be so sure," said Snape coolly, releasing Harry's arm, and Harry's eyes flickered to him. "The connection still needs to be subverted, or we run the risk of the Dark Lord making use of it to his own ends."

"Sirius, I..."

"You shouldn't talk yet," Sirius advised Harry worriedly, eyeing his sweaty, pallid complexion. "Just try to sit up, slowly."

Harry let himself be lifted into a sitting position, though he felt a wave of nausea threaten him as the world righted itself. He shook his head to clear it, reaching out for Sirius. He felt Sirius's hand close reassuringly over his forearm. "I have to..."

"Just relax, Potter," ordered Snape. "Your mind has been stretched far beyond it's natural limitations, and we still have work to do."

"Wait!" Interrupted Harry, starting to feel desperate. "I have to tell you... Voldemort's here. He's in Britain. They're going to the Ministry of Magic."

He felt Sirius and Snape staring at him, and he wanted to shake them for not moving more quickly.

"They're all here, don't you understand? Where's Dumbledore?"

"We need to destroy this connection you've somehow formed with the Dark Lord, Potter," Snape insisted firmly, his jaw set.

"No!" Harry protested, and he felt Sirius's grip on his arm tighten. "No, we need it! How else would we have known Voldemort's back?"

"If you don't allow me to destroy it, the Dark Lord will destroy you," said Snape in a dark, low voice. "He knows about the link, Potter. He could make you see whatever he wants you to see, and he could use you to find the Order of the Phoenix. Is that what you want?"

Harry stared at him, his heart hammering. How could they not see? If it hadn't been for these visions, none of them would have known about Voldemort being back on their doorstep. He needed them, they all did.

"Let me up," said Harry suddenly.

"Harry, just stay sitting-"

Despite Sirius's protests and his hand on Harry's arm, the boy tried to push them away from him as he got to his feet.

"Listen, Harry, I think Snape's right!" Sirius said, refusing to relinquish his hold on Harry's arm. "These visions are dangerous. You shouldn't experience that again."

"Let me go," said Harry, yanking back on his arm. "If you stop them, we won't know where Voldemort is."

Snape shook his head impatiently. "If you don't let me block them, that insight could be reciprocated. During something like what you just experienced, Voldemort could force you to reveal your deepest secrets with one small thought. It makes very little sense why he would have let you go, as he just did. You may never have woken."

Harry stared up at Snape, torn. Ignoring Sirius's unrelenting grasp on his arm, he thought darkly to himself, _But I did wake up. And now we know where they are._

**Review!**


	29. Where I Belong

**Chapter Twenty-Nine**

**"Where I Belong"**

Over the next thirty minutes, headquarters became a buzzing hive of activity as Order members were recalled from all over the country to assemble there. Dumbledore arrived with them, sending them to the kitchen to muster. In the seclusion of McGonagall's private study he addressed Harry, who was stubbornly refusing to undergo Snape's treatment.

"Dumbledore, you must make him see reason!" Implored Professor McGonagall, wringing her hands.

"I cannot force Harry to do anything about this if he's unwilling," said Dumbledore sadly. His light blue eyes twinkled somberly at Harry from behind his spectacles. Harry was standing stiffly by his abandoned chair, but even all the way across the room he could feel the intensity of the headmaster's gaze. "The final decision is his, and his alone."

Snape was beating a path in McGonagall's floor, his lips tight and his eyebrows drawn. "There must be some way to make you understand, Potter," he threw sharply in Harry's direction. "Or is your skull so thick that our words merely bounce off the surface?"

Sirius's eyes flashed a warning. "Keep that kind of commentary to yourself, Snape," he growled. "He needs a little time."

"Time is something we don't have, Black. If he doesn't stop acting like a foolish child, the cost could be our lives!"

"Back off! If I hear you say another word about-"

"Unfortunately," Dumbledore interrupted gravely, and the rest of them shut their mouths. "Severus is right about one thing. We are out of time."

Harry returned his gaze, clenching his fists inside his sleeves.

"Should I describe to you again what will happen if you don't let me do this?" Snape demanded.

Ron piped up for the first time in hours. He had sunken so low in his fireside chair that Harry had almost forgotten he was there. "Harry, please," said Ron shakily. "Listen to them. This isn't right."

Harry glared, infuriated that his best friend was experiencing the same lapse in judgment as all the others were. "I thought you would see it my way," he accused, feeling deflated.

"Not after waking you up from that dream, mate," said Ron in a stronger voice. "That was awful, that was. If we can stop it from ever happening again, we've got to."

"We can't."

"Harry," said Dumbledore, stepping closer. Harry had the uncomfortable feeling the headmaster's eyes were scanning his soul. He shifted apprehensively. "I can't allow you to take this risk. Your refusal gives me very few options, and I don't want to confine you anywhere. I will have to do just that if you keep this connection with Voldemort alive. It is a matter not only of your safety, but of the safety of all the Order members, and of headquarters itself."

It was difficult to feel angry or defiant when being X-rayed by those bright blue eyes, but Harry felt his anger mounting none the less. He had already told them how important it was that he'd seen what he saw... what would it take for them to comprehend it?

Beside Harry, Sirius set his teeth. With sideways glances at the others gathered in the room, he began pulling Harry by the arm toward a door to a side room.

"We need to talk, Harry," he said quietly, opening the door and gently forcing Harry through it. The room was small, and a few large, dusty barrels lined one wall. Sirius led the way to these and took a seat on one of them. Harry, feeling doubtful, sat too. He met Sirius's gaze with a glimmer of defiance.

"I'm your godfather, Harry," said Sirius in a low voice. "Do you think your father would have been happy with me if I let you keep this up?"

Harry, caught off guard by the mention of his father, opened his mouth to reply, but hesitated. Sirius took advantage of his momentary surprise.

"What you're hoping to accomplish is impossible, Harry," he said, leaning closer. "This link you have with Voldemort... it'll only work against you."

Harry felt another twinge of frustration deep in his chest. Why didn't anyone understand? "Sirius, what I saw was necessary," he argued. "Voldemort could be storming the Ministry right now, and we wouldn't have known it if I hadn't seen what I did."

"And Dumbledore is already moving on that information. But what you saw was as dangerous as it was helpful."

"It was worth it," said Harry stubbornly.

Sirius was looking more and more agitated. "Harry, you're being unreasonable!"

"I can't just let it go!"

"Yes you can! You heard what could happen if you don't."

Harry stood. "It hasn't happened yet."

"But now he knows, Harry," pressed Sirius heatedly, standing as well. His eyes were fixed beseechingly on Harry. "Next time, he'll be prepared."

Harry shook his head, feeling hot around the eyes. His gaze faltered, and for the thousandth time since the manor he saw Crouch's face in his mind's eye. The Death Eater's freckled face leered at him, throwing his weakness back at him like a taunt. Harry's shoulders felt suddenly heavy, and he shivered, rubbing his hand over his forehead in a subconscious effort to ease the pain in his scar. If he let Snape rid him of his link to Voldemort, he would have no control. None at all.

How could he let go of the only control he had?

Sirius came slowly forward and braced Harry's shoulders. Finally their gazes caught and held.

"Harry," said Sirius softly, his eyes probing. "What aren't you telling me? What happened at the manor?"

Instinctively, Harry opened his mouth to deflect Sirius's question, but abruptly he closed it again. The silence stretched on between them for a minute as Harry realized that he was toying with the idea of finally opening up to Sirius about Crouch. Sirius's eyes were so insistent, and he seemed so willing to listen... almost as if he already knew.

But where would he start? What could he even say? He didn't even fully understand what had happened himself...

"Just talk to me," said Sirius. As grateful as Harry was that Sirius was bracing him, he suddenly found himself fighting the urge to pull away and sit back down. There was no way he could look Sirius in the eye and vocalize the extent of his experiences over the past few weeks. It wasn't possible.

Sirius seemed to sense Harry's withdrawal. "Nothing that happened in there is stronger than you are, Harry," he said, almost desperate to hold onto the moment.

Harry still didn't look at him. He was breathing slowly, but his heart was beating fast. Achingly, he shook his head.

"I'll let Snape erase the link," said Harry in a voice that cracked. Sirius waited, watching Harry's face hopefully. But Harry's eyes flickered away. Sirius saw in them uncertainty and fear, and the smallest glimmer of something even worse: resignation.

"Alright," said Sirius with a heavy heart. He knew Harry wouldn't tell him anything else now. "That's a big weight off my shoulders."

Harry felt a sudden tide of guilt wash over him. The heat behind his eyes threatened to spill over as hot tears, but he held them back.

After another prolonged moment, Sirius gave his shoulder a squeeze. "Come on," he said. "Let's make these visions a thing of the past." He turned to lead the way back to McGonagall's study, but Harry hesitated.

Sirius stopped, looking back. "Harry?"

"I'm sorry," said Harry, and he'd never meant anything more in his life.

Sirius gazed at him with softened, worried eyes. "It's alright," said Sirius with heartfelt sincerity.

Harry looked up, sensing their sudden closeness. Right then, despite Harry's inability to tell Sirius the truth, he felt they were closer than they ever had been. His chest filled with guilt again, and this time it was too strong. He couldn't stop a few tears from falling.

Sirius saw the tears, and wiped them away without thinking. Even though he knew it was necessary, he strongly regretted that Harry had to think about any of it ever again. Looking forward, he would wait as long as it took for Harry to come to him on his own. He would never bring it up again, not so long as Harry could see reason, and would deal with the issue of the visions.

"Thanks for staying," said Harry quietly. "For being here."

A phantom of a smile, albeit a worried one, crossed Sirius's face. "Don't thank me. This is where I belong."

**LONDON, 3:12 AM**

The Ministry of Magic appeared to be an empty shell of what it was meant to be as Aleksandar's blindfold was removed, and he was able to look around. Beside him his brother and his brother's wife were having their blindfolds removed as well, and their surroundings were beginning to sink in.

Above them stretched a vast dome, the ceiling of which was too high up for Aleksandar to see. The expansive lobby was dark and silent, deserted except for them. As they were herded onward across the highly polished wood floor, Aleksandar studied the Ministry officials. Their leader was a man around his father's age, with silver hair and kind eyes. The other man was tall and dark, and didn't say very much. The woman was silky-haired and wore heavy make-up, and none of them seemed quite as threatening as they had when they were first ambushed in the darkness of Marshal Meadows Bay.

Their footsteps clacked loudly around them as they proceeded between rows and rows of abandoned Floo capsules. It was easy to imagine how it would have felt grand to come to work here in the morning, up until Voldemort's return. But now, with their echoing footsteps resounding around them, the place felt ghostly and dead.

The silver-haired Ministry worker, who Aleksandar had heard referred to as Roger, held out his wand to halt them beside a magnificent, gold elevator shaft. With a wave of his wand Roger summoned the lift, which descended whirringly and came to a gentle stop. The gold door slid open, and a cool, female voice spoke some English words that Aleksandar couldn't understand.

Roger gestured with his wand and said something.

Aleksandar and Heidrik both looked to Elena. Nestled between them, she looked small and pale. "He wants us to board the elevator," she translated in hushed Russian.

Heidrik nodded briskly. "Alright, let's go. The sooner we tell them what we know, the sooner we'll be released." He led them inside and Aleksandar followed. He hoped his brother had spoken true.

The Ministry workers squeezed in behind them. It was a tight fit, and Aleksandar found himself pushed up against the silver-haired Ministry man. He averted his eyes, avoiding Roger's scrutinizing stare. Roger spoke. Aleksander waited, his eyes watchful.

"He says we have no reason to mistrust him," Elena supplied. "He says we'll be granted clemency because of the information we carry."

Aleksandar nodded, glancing doubtfully down at his wrist restraints. Roger saw him looking, and said something to his colleagues. They responded affirmatively, and Roger reached out to grasp the cords around Aleksandar's wrists. With a spoken spell, the cords came apart and Aleksandar's arms sprang free. Roger did the same for Heidrik and Elena, all the while speaking words that Aleksandar couldn't understand.

Elena hurriedly tried to keep up. "He says - to just be compliant for the next few hours, and we'll be released into the custody of whatever family of ours they can track down." She sounded hopeful. "No charges for the Portkey, or the travelling. They just need to know everything that we know."

Aleksandar felt uncertain. He didn't know very much... what if his lack of information kept them captive here for a longer time? The elevator shuddered under them as they moved higher and higher through the Ministry. Aleksander eyed Roger from underneath his hair. Trust had never come easily for him.

**Please do leave your thoughts and comments in a review. Thank you!**


	30. The Muggle Seer

**Chapter Thirty**

**"The Muggle Seer"**

**...**

Voldemort directed his wand at the pile of wooden planks lining the wall under the windows, raising them effortlessly into the air to snugly cover the window panes, blocking out the stormy night sky beyond. When the windows were thoroughly boarded, he whirled out of the room and proceeded to the next room. He and his entire company had hastily departed the roadside inn when Voldemort had discovered that his mind had been penetrated by none other than his most desired adversary. He could only assume that Dumbledore had something to do with this as well...

Dumbledore. The wizard on whom he could always rely to get in his way. The old fool would be sorry he ever used the Potter boy to spy on the Dark Lord...

Potter may have seen where Voldemort was, and where he was going, but the magic worked both ways. Next time they tried to violate his mind, Dumbledore and Potter would have an unexpected surprise waiting for them. In the meantime, Voldemort had moved all the Death Eaters somewhere new, where Dumbledore himself would be unlikely to look.

The attack on the Ministry was fifteen long years in coming, and Voldemort could wait a little bit longer.

...

...

...

Remus Lupin walked at a brisk pace against a stiff wind, an unnaturally cold one for this time of year. He glanced up at the sky from underneath his hood, noting the heavy, fast-moving clouds and the moisture in the air. The town of Haslemere was asleep around him, but he kept a watchful eye to each side and behind him all the time. His muted footsteps sounded loud to him as he kept to the shadows, travelling stealthily toward the heart of the quaint little village.

As he reached the intersection at the center of town he hesitated, drawing back against the side of a post office. He reached into the pocket of his robes and withdrew a small, black book. Opening it, he held it up so a small ray of light from the nearest lamppost illuminated the pages, and read it closely.

Across the deserted street was a courthouse surrounded by empty shops and restaurants, and in front of him, towering up into the stormy sky, was an enormous church. After another moment, Lupin slipped the black book back into his robes and raised his eyes to the church, studying it. Over the entrance were a number of carved marble figurines depicted in long, flowing robes. They held their hands out above the double doorway, framing and protecting it. There was a light turned on at the base of the walkway leading up to the stairs, an open invitation to passersby, day or night.

Lupin felt the first few drops of cold rain on his face as he started quickly up the walkway. He slipped under the cover of the porch ceiling, shrugging his robes closer around his shoulders and raising his hand to knock on the door.

Before he had even touched it there was a clank of metal and the door swung open. Lupin stepped back respectfully, lowering his hood.

A portly man in a brown robe with a rope belt was standing in the open doorway, looking out at him from behind a lit candle. "Remus."

"Hello, Father," Lupin replied, moving into the candlelight. "You were expecting me, I take it?"

"I may have glimpsed it. You shouldn't have come here, Remus."

Lupin shifted, and his hand tightened around the small book in his pocket. "No? Isn't the church open to my kind anymore?"

The man looked uncomfortable. "Of course it is. But you've got to go, I'm telling you. You shouldn't be here."

"I need to speak with you, Father. Last time we met you told me I could depend on you. The names you gave me, the things you said about trust and vigilance... the people whose names I asked you for have made their move, and it's worse than we ever could have imagined. Their overlord has returned, stronger than ever."

"I can't talk with you about any of my parishioners anymore, Remus, not even the ones like you."

"Hear me out, Father. Someone very dangerous is coming into power, someone from the wizarding world. We all believed he was dead, but he's back. Please, let me in so we can talk."

The Reverend was looking positively sick. "Remus... you have to understand," he insisted; Lupin noticed beads of sweat had appeared on his face. "I can't tell you anything."

Lupin paused, hunching his shoulders against the cold, wet wind at his back. "What do you mean, Father?"

The man shook his head. "You have to go, Remus." The candle shook in his hand. "It's not safe here."

Lupin stared at him, slowly beginning to comprehend the meaning in his eyes. "Father..." he began, his eyes searching over the Reverend's shoulder into the dark interior of the church. His fingers abandoned the book in his robes and clasped tightly around the sleek wand beside it. "Just come outside, Father. Come outside, as quickly as you can."

The Reverend hesitated just a moment too long. Lupin drew his wand as the double doors swung fully open and he saw several cloaked men materialize in the shadows.

"Stand aside, preacher," one of them ordered in a harsh foreign accent.

Lupin trained his wand steadily on the nearest of the strangers. "Don't make a move," he warned them icily. "I'll take your leader before any of the rest of you."

There were four of them now, he could see. The supposed leader grinned at Lupin, shouldering the Reverend aside with little regard for Lupin's threat. "You couldn't get near our leader if he was standing right here in front of you," he replied, showing a mouth full of crooked teeth. He had a wand of his own, and he was pointing it at the Reverend. "Stand down, wizard, or this man dies."

The Reverend stood up a little straighter. "Don't worry about me, Remus. It's too late trying to avert this crisis, and from what you tell me this is the least of it anyhow. I'll tell you whatever you need to know."

Lupin didn't lower his wand. He glared calculatingly at the four wizards. "So," he said finally. "You're Death Eaters, are you?"

"Who else would we be?" The crooked-toothed man leered.

"What are you doing in this church?"

"Same as you, wizard. You're not the first of our kind to seek out the Muggle preacher that can See. Wizards have been coming here for ages. Isn't that why you came?"

"I came to see the Reverend, yes."

"Yes, the Reverend." The leering man prodded the pastor with the sharp point of his wand. "This man thinks he's ready to tell you the secrets of those of us who have been coming here. There aren't very many of us, you fool, most of the witches and wizards who come here are true believers searching for repentance. But there are some of us, the fair and the few, who come here for something else."

"I've been helping them," the Reverend told Lupin heatedly, holding up his candle. "Some of them came to me, saying they were looking for forgiveness for their sins. They told me they were... like you, like wizardkind. A few nights ago, I... I had a vision, and I was told of their true intentions. I was boarding up the church windows when they found me. They asked me to See for them again. I refused."

"And you'll regret it," interrupted one of the Death Eaters. "You could have saved your own life, if you'd done it."

"I'd sooner dig my own grave."

"You have, old man. You have."

Lupin raised his wand a little higher. "You haven't won," he reminded them. "I won't let you hurt him."

The Reverend's eyes suddenly widened. "Remus, look-"

Before Lupin could even flinch, a spell struck him in the back of the head. He dropped like a stone to the wet floor of the porch, and his wand rolled out of his limp hand.

"Remus!" The Reverend cried, attempting to bend down over him, but he was pulled roughly upright by one of the Death Eaters. Another Death Eater came up the walkway out of the darkness, his wand lowering to his side. He shook some water out of his red blond hair, pocketing the wand, and trotted up the church stairs wearing a smug smile. "You won't prevail!" The Reverend was crying out as he was shunted backward into the church hall. "You'll be struck down!"

"Struck down, you say?" Laughed the newcomer. "The only striking I see is my spell against Lupin's skull."

"Where have you been, Crouch?" Demanded one of the other men.

"Scouting, and lucky for you," replied Barty Crouch, Jr. "The Dark Lord told me to keep a close eye on this little town while we're waiting to move on the Ministry. He knows people like this wizard may show up to council with the Reverend. What were you planning on doing, anyway?"

"We could've taken him if you hadn't shown up," growled a Death Eater. "One man, Crouch. Easy."

"The Dark Lord will be pleased to know you're filling your new position with a healthy attitude," said Crouch, with a subtly mocking air. "Let's get this traitor inside. The Dark Lord will be overjoyed to see that we've acquired him."

The five of them each grabbed an arm or a leg and hauled Lupin's unconscious body over the threshhold of the church.

**GRIMMAULD PLACE**

Harry closed the door behind him as he and Sirius reentered Professor McGonagall's study. They were met by stares; everyone present was watching Harry as though waiting for him to combust (some more ambiguously than others.)

Sirius, with a supportive look at Harry, gave a nod to the room at large. They exchanged glances of surprised disbelief, and the atmosphere in the room shifted perceptibly. Ron sat up a little straighter, and Professor Snape unclasped his fingers, standing up from behind McGonagall's desk.

Dumbledore came forward, looking extremely pleased. "We will begin immediately. But first - Minerva, would you please escort Ron downstairs to the parlor where all the underage witches and wizards are gathered? He'll find his brothers and his sister are already there."

At this, Ron uncrossed his legs and they swung off his chair to the floor. "What's that?" He demanded loudly. "Professor?" he added.

"Come along, Mr. Weasley," instructed Professor McGonagall briskly, already adjusting her shawl around her shoulders and turning for the door.

"I wanted to stay here with Harry-" Ron protested, looking between Harry and Professor Dumbledore. On one hand, Harry wanted Ron to be there, but the louder voice in his head reminded him that he would rather not have Ron see any more of this, so he held his tongue.

"Mr. Weasley!" barked Professor McGonagall from the door, her hand already on the handle. "If you please?"

Ron stood with extreme reluctance, and shuffled past Harry. As he went by, Harry tried to convey an apology through their eye contact. He watched Ron file out the door behind Professor McGonagall.

In the wake of their departure, the room seemed unnaturally still.

Professor Dumbledore broke the quiet first. "I thought this should be a little more private," he said, and Harry silently agreed. "Harry, please sit."

Harry pushed McGonagall's chair back to the desk, but didn't sit. Across from him, Snape was eyeing him suspiciously from behind his own chair as though expecting him to change his mind, and Harry met the dark gaze. "I'll let you do it," said Harry, and despite himself he sounded slightly breathless. "But there's only one thing. While you're digging around in there, isn't there a chance I could see through Voldemort's eyes again?"

Snape pursed his lips, leaning forward onto the back of his chair with a glint in his eye. "That would be the least desirable outcome, Potter."

"But it's possible?"

"Not if I can avoid it, no. The chances of you coming out of another encounter like that are slim to none."

Harry bit his lip, frowning. Even though Snape wouldn't give him a straight answer, Harry wondered which of them would have more control once the process began. They would be inside _his_ mind, after all...

"Ok," he said abruptly. "Let's go."

Snape took a seat across from Harry once more. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Sirius reclaiming his chair by the fire, now the only spectator in the room besides Dumbledore, who stood beside the hearth. Snape's wand was in his hand, and Harry registered a fleeting sense that he was teetering on the edge and was about to fall over it.

"Are you prepared, Potter?"

"Yes."

Snape raised his wand, muttering, "_Legilimens!"_

_..._

_..._

_..._

Voldemort sat in a high-backed chair in front of a painting of the Last Supper. His long, spidery fingers were on his knees, spread out across the fabric of his robes like spindles, and his scarlet eyes rested on the form of the unconscious prisoner. This was by more more than he had been hoping for. He had planned to seize control of Potter's mind when the opportunity arose, but a far better option had presented itself to him. This wizard was close to Harry, and had been a close friend to Harry's father. The possession of Remus Lupin had changed Voldemort's mind. There was no need to destroy Potter without getting to face him...

**Review, please! (You have more drama between Crouch and Harry coming up in later chapters.)**


	31. Entrapment

**Chapter Thirty-One**

**"Entrapment"**

A cavernous ceiling rose above him as Lupin slowly returned to consciousness. His wrists were tied together and then to a nearby pipe running along the floor at the wall. His feet were bound in similar fashion to the same pipe.

It was dark except for a few guttering candles lining the wall, and all he could make out of his surroundings were a few dusty floorboards and a painting of the Mother Mary. He was definitely inside the church, and he wasn't alone.

A few figures hovered in the semi-darkness, mere shadows that even to Lupin's wolf-sharp eyes were only silhouettes. He could barely make out a wand trained on him from beneath the black cloak of one of them, evidently having been used to revive him.

"It's time," one of them muttered to the other, and his voice was so sleek and so full of malice that he could be none other than Lord Voldemort. The tone brought shivers to Lupin's spine. To remember the dark days of Voldemort's first reign filled him with a combination of anger and fear, and he clenched his fists. _Don't give him anything,_ he told himself strongly, knowing he wouldn't. He'd die first.

The other figure, a slimmer man with broad shoulders, came forward. "I hate to speak ill of someone who was almost my colleague," said the man in a lightly taunting voice. "But I have to say I'm surprised. For a werewolf, you're remarkably small and shabby-looking."

Thinking fast, Lupin stared at him. "So... you're Crouch's son."

The man gave a short laugh, and stepped closer so that the candlelight fell on his features. "You're quick, you are."

Beside the Death Eater, Voldemort lowered his own hood and raised the wand in his hand. "Tell me, Remus," he said, and his red eyes gleamed, "Did Dumbledore think that possession of my wand would render me powerless?" Voldemort's laugh sounded to Lupin like breaking glass. "How many brothers do I have? A wand is the least each member of my family would be willing to give me, in exchange for a place at my side."

Despite the aching of held back emotion in his chest, Lupin raised his head as best he could from his position on his back. "You may have found a group of bleating sheep to do your will, Voldemort, but the rest of us will fight you to the end."

"You speak to the Dark Lord with disrespect," growled Crouch's son.

"It's alright, Bartemius," interrupted Voldemort, holding up his hand for silence. "We can forgive this creature any lapse in decorum. He is insignificant, and he serves one purpose. Only one."

"What purpose might that be?" Spat Lupin.

A small, cold smile crossed Voldemort's lips. "If you live long enough to discover the answer to that question, you may just survive this after all." He twirled his wand between his fingers. "Though I certainly wouldn't hold onto that hope, were I in your place."

Lupin gritted his teeth, pulling angrily against the restraints. The pipe creaked and groaned loudly under his weight, but it didn't give. Voldemort signaled to his Death Eater to move back, before directing his wand down at Lupin once more.

_"Tardus dolor,"_ hissed Voldemort from between his teeth.

A deep, slow pain spread through Lupin, blossoming from the core of his very bones into his arms, legs and chest. He threw back his head, taken by surprise as the pain increased exponentially. It stabbed through each part of him in succession, like a raw drum beat tearing open his flesh.

Just as the pain reached an unbearable level, and Lupin's mouth was parting to let out a yell, it abated. Lupin sagged against the pipeline, his fingers shaking. He looked down at them through heavy breaths. Angry, red welts had appeared on his arms and hands, as though a vast amount of energy had exited his body through his skin. Gasping, he looked back up at the Dark Lord.

"What-what is the purpose of this?" He rasped.

Beside Voldemort, Crouch shifted excitedly. "How will you know when it's time, my Lord?" He asked.

With a wave of his wand, Voldemort hit Lupin with another curse. The man couldn't hold back a howl when it impacted his chest and exploded into thousands of shards of broken glass that struck deeply into his upper body. Blood sprinkled out around the embedded pieces, staining his shirt in widening circles. Over the sounds of Lupin's gasps, Voldemort answered Crouch. "Nothing happens inside my mind without my knowledge. When it's time, you will know. Until then, let me have my way with this creature."

"You won't get any information from me!" Lupin rasped at their feet. "If you're going to kill me, be done with it!"

"This is nowhere near finished," hissed Voldemort, aiming his wand again. "You're going to help me bring the Potter boy to his knees, exactly where he belongs."

**GRIMMAULD PLACE**

_There was so much blood. Lupin was writhing before him, sweaty and bound, the front of his shirt ripped. _

_Snape's strong presence grappled with him but he fought it, trying to see._

_The room was enormous, with tall, stained-glass windows. A church. Lupin's shouts echoed around him, tearing through the air as he was hit by spell after spell. He was lying in a puddle of his own blood now, and Crouch was there, his shoulders shaking with cruel laughter._

_A heavy wall began to come between Harry and the unfamiliar room. He fought it hard, pushing Snape to the very back of his mind. Lupin-where was he? Voldemort's high-pitched, mirthless laughter resounded out of his own mouth. _

_But before Harry could either submit to the wall or overpower it, he felt suddenly gripped by the strong arms of Voldemort's mind. It felt exactly as it had before when Voldemort discovered him there, but this time the grip was stronger; Voldemort had been expecting it, and just as Sirius had warned him, was better prepared._

_In a strange middle ground between his own consciousness and Voldemort's, Harry registered that he may be about to die. He'd known it could happen... but how could it happen now, when Lupin needed them so badly? _

Harry Potter, _a strange voice addressed him. The voice did not speak the words out loud, but somehow Harry understood they had been said. He pulled back, this time toward Snape instead of Voldemort. He needed to warn them about Lupin, but he couldn't move in either direction._

Let me out! _Harry hurled at his captor in the same silent way. _

You shouldn't have come here if you were not certain you could escape again.

_Harry continued to struggle. _I knew this might happen, that you could kill me this way, but it doesn't matter.

Does it not?_ Voldemort seemed affectionately amused, and it confused Harry. _

What's happening to Lupin? _If he was trapped here, he may as well get as much information as he could._

He will die, _responded Voldemort, and Harry's heart sank._

No! _He heaved against the rigidity of Voldemort's grasp on him. _No! I won't let you!

_Voldemort simpered, as though Harry were playing the game exactly as he'd hoped. _Do you want to save his life?

I won't let you kill him.

_Voldemort's mind held him tighter. _There is a way. I will let him live, under one simple condition.

_Harry felt fury rising up in him. _What do you want?

_There was a pause. Then, _Come to me, Harry Potter. Meet me face to face, and I will let the werewolf go free, to recover from his injuries.

_Harry's gut clenched at the obvious entrapment, but how much did it really matter? He couldn't let Lupin go through this... _Where are you? _ He asked finally._

_Voldemort's pleasure at having secured him permeated every corner of both their minds. At this point, Harry had completely forgotten Snape's presence, which had been reduced to a small, weak wall somewhere in the back, but at Harry's consent Voldemort released him a fraction of a measure. Snape tried to surge back into dominance, but Voldemort held on for a moment longer. _Meet me at the Ministry of Magic, _he instructed Harry. _You will find me there, with this half-human that you call your friend. When you arrive you will find instructions waiting for you, and you will be let inside. If you are not alone, the werewolf will die, and you will die painfully. _  
_

_Harry felt the iron arms holding him captive suddenly release him, and he was whirling through an indistinct world of colors and shapes. The wall he had felt before was erected once more, rising higher and higher between Harry and Voldemort until Harry felt them cut off from each other completely, and with finality. Harry let himself go without resistance, knowing that this twisting, chaotic ride would bring him back into his body, and hoping it would be soon._

Harry spluttered as he awoke, coughing roughly and opening his eyes. He had been moved, and he was now positioned in one of the fireside chairs. He sat up, breathing fast and hard as he looked around.

Snape was standing in front of him, his eyes lit eerily by the fire. Sirius was leaning forward against the back of Harry's chair, trying to see his face.

"You fell out of your chair again," said Sirius worriedly when Harry looked at him. "We thought more cushioning would be best. Are you alright? Did it work?"

Harry hesitated, but Snape interceded. "The link is broken," he said curtly, eyeing Harry with suspicion. "What happened, Potter?"

Harry stared up at him. "You didn't... you didn't see?"

"The Dark Lord had you, that much I know," answered Snape, his nostrils flaring tensely. "He forced me out when he took hold of you. How did you escape?"

"I..." Harry looked away momentarily, his eyes darkening. If he told them about Professor Lupin, they would stop him from leaving to meet Voldemort. The whole Order of the Phoenix could swoop into the Ministry in a rush, but then Lupin would die. If Harry could save the former Defense Against the Dark Arts professor by offering himself to Voldemort, shouldn't he?

Sirius came around the side of his chair, sparking Harry from his thoughts. "Are you alright, Harry?"

Lupin's face, covered in blood, his torn shirt... Crouch, looming over him with that sick look in his eye... what if Crouch did to Lupin what he'd almost done to Harry? Harry felt his resolve hardening. If he could save Lupin, he would sacrifice himself in an instant. He would have to find a way...

"What happened, Potter?" Snape's voice was sharp and cutting as he stepped closer to Harry. "Come to your senses. The Dark Lord held you from me. What was he doing? How did you break free?"

Sirius looked sharply at Snape. "Harry, what is he talking about?"

Harry was still silent, fighting an inner battle against the urge to tell them everything.

"Harry!" Sirius said in a louder voice. "What happened?"

"I don't know," Harry lied, his heart sinking into his stomach. He hoped his guilt wouldn't show in his face.

Sirius's eyes were searching his, desperate for some resolution. "You don't remember?"

Harry shook his head. "It's... not really clear."

Snape glowered. "Don't spin a lie, Potter. This is no time for stories."

"It isn't a lie!" Harry got to his feet, ignoring the shaking in his knees. "It's done, right? Isn't the link broken, like you said?"

"The link is broken, yes. But Potter, there is no logical reason for the Dark Lord to release you a second time. Please explain this to me."

"He doesn't remember," Sirius interrupted, his eyes warning Snape against pushing any further.

Snape's lips were white. "I think he does remember, Black."

"Save it, Snape," Sirius snapped. He knew Harry was hiding something, but he wasn't ready to sit by and watch Snape taunt the boy about it. "It's not helping."

"Look," said Harry more insistently. "It just happened, alright?" He sat back down, more to stop the shaking in his knees than from actual exhaustion.

Sirius wrestled for a minute with his own desire to find out what happened inside Voldemort's mind, but he quickly let it go. He was waiting to know what happened at the manor... he could wait for this, too. The most important thing right now was mustering with Dumbledore and heading out to apprehend the Death Eaters. Harry would be safe at headquarters for now...

Sirius's hand went to Harry's shoulder. "You need rest," he said gently.

Snape was not so ready to let it go. "I find it hard to believe your lapse in memory, Potter."

"Snape, will you look at him?" Sirius protested angrily. "He looks dead on his feet. Let him rest."

Snape glared at the two of them. "I'll be counseling with Dumbledore and the others downstairs," he said gratingly. "You're hiding something, Potter, and I'll find out what it is."

...

Sirius escorted Harry through the house to his own room, watching him out of the corner of his eye the whole time. The bags under Harry's eyes were dark, and his lips were pale. When they reached the right door, Sirius paused with his hand on the door knob. "Harry?"

Harry looked up.

"I'll have Mrs. Weasley bring you some food and drink," said Sirius, as though grasping for something normal or comforting to say.

"No, you don't have to," said Harry quickly. "I just want a couple hours sleep, that's all."

Sirius nodded. "I can't imagine anything could be better for you right now. Don't think too much... we'll be downstairs. If we hear anything about the Ministry, or if we have to move, someone will let you know."

"Thanks, Sirius."

"Don't thank me." Sirius turned the door handle and pushed the door open. "Get some sleep."

When the door closed and Harry was alone in the bedroom, he dropped his facade and went to work searching his drawers and cupboards. He needed to find something-anything-to bring with him to the Ministry, and he needed to find a way out of the house. Without a wand this would be very tricky, if not impossible, but Harry was spurred on by a burning in his heart.

When he didn't find any kind of wand, weapon, clothing, or gear in any of the drawers, he stood up straight and gazed around the room. He would have to look elsewhere.

As he crept across the room back to the door, his heart hammered madly. He put his ear against it, listening closely to the hallway outside. It was silent and still; Sirius had already gone downstairs to join the others.

Carefully, Harry turned the knob and pulled the door open, wincing as it gave a small creak. He slipped out into the hallway and closed it behind him, hoping Kreature wouldn't happen along and discover his absence before he was beyond reach.

The upper floors of the house were quiet. Any noise from downstairs was lost within it's many chipped walls. As Harry made his way stealthily across the landing, past a few other bedroom doors, his mind worked in overdrive.

He needed a pathway to an exit where he would be unlikely to be seen. He didn't know the house very well, and he'd gained a healthy apprehension for some it's unruly characteristics, but he'd once seen the twins disappearing behind a portrait of a polar bear and he made for it, clinging to the shred of hope.

Just as he reached it, hands grabbed his arms and pulled him into a side room.

"Argh!" Harry yelled, struggling desperately, immediately transported to his memories of the manor. "Let me go!"

"Harry, relax, mate!"

A wand ignited, and Harry was staring up into the somber eyes of Fred and George Weasley.

"Where are you going in such a hurry?" Asked Fred.

"And in secret," George added, prodding Harry with his wand.

"You two..." Harry muttered, recovering from the surprise. He came to a hasty decision. "Do you know a way out of here?"

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	32. Imminence

**Chapter Thirty-Two**

**"Imminence"**

**GRIMMAULD PLACE, JUST BEFORE DAWN...**

"The boy endangered everything that we have ever worked for! He willfully put the entire wizarding world in jeopardy."

"You said it was Voldemort who forced you out, Snape. Not Harry."

"You haven't been listening. Still the pigheaded harp that you always were, I'm starting to see."

"It doesn't make any sense! How can we punish the victim?"

"Before the Dark Lord took control, Potter was already trying to overpower me. It may have even worked. We were disconnected for a long time afterward, and Potter can't account for what he saw. Maybe a time in isolation would help him recover his lost memories."

"Isolation?" Sirius gave an angry laugh. "You can't be serious. Isolate him, after everything he's been through?"

"The safety of headquarters and of the Order is what matters most. Whatever is causing him to act so rashly is of secondary concern."

"Actually," interrupted Dumbledore from his seat at the head of the kitchen table, "The causes for Harry's behavior are of utmost importance."

Sirius was standing behind a row of witches and wizards seated around the large kitchen table. Dumbledore sat at the head of the table, his fingers spread open across a huge, map-like drawing. It was a blueprint, and on its surface small, black lines moved like worms, as though the walls were continually shifting. There were numerous other documents and envelopes open on the table, and feathers everywhere.

At Dumbledore's words, Sirius looked to him gratefully.

"The person on whom Voldemort dwells the most is Harry Potter. In a sense, he is obsessed. Harry is the only person that matters more to him in this world than gaining absolute power." Dumbledore paused to be sure they were hanging onto his words, before continuing grimly, "I think it's critical that we find out what it is Harry saw. If there's one thing I know about Tom, it is that he does not let anything go without first benefiting from it."

Sirius frowned, taking in the faces of the witches and wizards around him as many of them expressed their approval. "What do you mean?" He asked Dumbledore, leaning forward.

"It is highly unlikely that Harry forgot what took place in Voldemort's mind," Dumbledore elaborated gently. "And just as unlikely that Voldemort would have let him go without an ulterior motive."

"The first time was accidental," intoned Snape, his voice having quieted significantly under Dumbledore's influence. "He wasn't prepared. The second time, the release was intentional, and I could feel it happening."

Sirius's frown deepened. "But clearly isolation isn't the answer," he said, searching the faces of the others for signs of support. Most of them looked sad, angry, or afraid. "Maybe after a good few hours of rest he'll be willing to talk. I'll talk to him myself."

"Regrettably, we don't have the time," said Dumbledore, clasping his fingers together over the blueprint on the table, his light blue eyes fixed somberly on Sirius. "In a few hours, the attacks on the Ministry may have already started. It could begin at any moment, and we would have little to no warning save this map Cornelius sent us."

"But it's incomplete," said a blond young man at the table in an American accent. "There are several floors blacked out, where occupants can't be tracked."

"It is the best we could acquire on such short notice," replied Dumbledore patiently. "This is the first time any such map of the Ministry has been made, and Cornelius was hard-pressed to make it happen from the safe house."

"Why isn't the Minister here to fight with us?" Piped another Order member, an older woman.

"I am not the one who can answer that, Emmeline. I am, however, grateful that this map is something, and not nothing."

"Headmaster, if I may bring your attention back the the matter of the Potter boy?" Said Snape, clearing his throat. "What are we to do with him?"

The heads in the room swiveled in Dumbeldore's direction. The headmaster reached up and took off his spectacles, placing them on the table before him. With two fingers, he reached up to gently massage the bridge of his nose between his eyes.

Seeing Dumbledore exhibiting anything less than iron resolve took Sirius by surprise; it wasn't a good omen.

"We must press him," said Dumbledore finally, looking up again at the faces around the table, and at Sirius. "I apologize, Sirius. I know you only want to look out for Harry, after almost having lost him, first at the manor and then right in front of your eyes. But we must know what it is Harry saw inside Voldemort's mind."

Snape was nodding grimly, but Sirius's heart was sinking. He was picturing Harry's worn face and tired eyes, wanting nothing more than to let him sleep.

"It would be highly ineffective to talk with Harry in front of a crowd of people, regardless of their reasons for being here," Dumbledore continued, standing. "We'll go to him. Sirius? Severus? I think having both of you along would be best."

"Headmaster, do you really think so?" Said Snape quietly, casting a reluctant glance at Sirius. "Black's done nothing but slow this down."

"Harry needs Sirius to be there," said Dumbledore firmly. "Sirius will go first, and inform Harry to be ready for us."

...

...

...

"What'll you do without a wand?"

"I dunno, I'll have to improvise, I suppose."

"Don't be a prat. You can't improvise out past those walls without a wand, that's mad."

Harry stood his ground. "I don't have a choice."

Fred and George Weasley were both wearing identical expressions of concerned disbelief. They glanced at each other and then back at Harry.

"Won't you tell us where you're going?" George asked.

"If I told you, you'd have to lie to everyone, because I can't be followed," Harry insisted, shrugging his thin jacket tighter around his neck.

The twins exchanged another loaded glance. "Why are we supposed to show you the way out? So you can go off alone and get yourself killed?" Fred demanded, plucking Harry in the shoulder.

"With no wand," added George, shaking his head. "It's the worst plan I've ever heard."

"I don't have a choice!" Harry argued, rising.

"What are you talking about?" Said Fred loudly. "Who's forcing you?"

Harry breathed through his nose, trying to calm himself. He needed the twins' help, and he couldn't afford to lose his temper with them. They watched him expectantly. "I need to get to the Ministry," Harry said finally, making his decision. "And it has to be me. If anyone comes with me..."

The twins waited, their eyes widening.

"He'll kill Lupin."

George exhaled loudly, his hand going to the wand in his back pocket. "Who'll kill him?"He asked, his face white. "You Know Who?"

Harry nodded, just as pale.

Fred was looking stricken. "But Lupin was here just yesterday morning," he said incredulously. "He was going through documents in the library. How could this happen?"

"I don't know. But if I don't get to the Ministry, he'll die."

Fred seemed suddenly uncertain. He gave Harry a wondering look, as though deep in thought.

"What is it?" George asked him.

Fred seemed unsure of how to say whatever he was thinking. "Harry," he began, rubbing his hands together apologetically. "Mate, didn't Snape and Dumbledore tell you that you could be made to see whatever You Know Who wants you to see?"

Harry snorted angrily. "Yes, but-" he stopped. "Hang on, how did you know about that?"

"We hear everything that goes on in this house," Fred reiterated, shrugging. "Well, most things. So what of it?"

Harry tried to recover from his shock. 'That isn't what this was," he said firmly. "This was real."

"I don't know, Harry," said Fred. "How could You Know Who have Lupin? And even if he does, it's obviously a trap to get his hands on you."

"I know it's a trap. And I don't know how Voldemort got Lupin, but none of that matters, I can't keep running away from him. If I don't face him, this will never end." Harry drew a shaky breath. "One of us has to die."

The twins stared at him, aghast.

"Please, I'm running out of time," said Harry urgently. "Is there a way out of here?"

Fred still looked doubtful, and George was biting his lip. "Fred, maybe we should help him," said George nervously.

"What?" Demanded Fred, surprised. "You heard Snape!"

"Snape could have been wrong," said George.

There was a prolonged silence, filled only by the heavy sounds of the three of them breathing in the semi-darkness. George's wand light brightened their faces with an eerie, blue glow, casting their long shadows onto the walls around them like scarecrows, and Harry's heart beat sounded like thunder in his ears as he waited for the verdict.

After what felt like several very long minutes, Fred gave a short exhale, shaking his head as though knowing he would regret this. "Ok," he said heavily. "But you'll need to know which floors on the Ministry can and can't be tracked on Dumbledore's map."

Gratitude swelled in Harry as Fred pulled a scroll out of one of the pockets of his robes, and a quill from another. Licking the quill, he put it to the parchment and scribbled a few words under the light from George's wand. Squinting, Harry leaned in closer, reading.

_9th, 10th, 11th floors_

_Sub-level _

_Department of Mysteries_

Fred pocketed the quill, rolled up the parchment, and handed it over. Harry took it, opening it to look at it once more.

"Those floors are undetectable, at least for now," explained Fred. "But Harry... how are you even going to get inside, mate?"

Harry rolled up the parchment and pushed it into his jacket pocket. "I don't know. But I'll find a way."

Fred looked like he still wanted to stop Harry. But a moment later, he glanced down at his wand. "Here," he said, holding it out.

"I can't take your wand," Harry argued, stepping back.

"You have to," Fred insisted, coming forward and pushing the wand into Harry's hand. "If you don't, you haven't got a chance."

Harry gripped the cool wood, his fingers sliding along the edge. It felt good to hold a wand again. He looked up at Fred. "What if you need it?"

George laughed. "He won't. We have others."

Harry smiled, slipping the wand into his back pocket. "Thanks, Fred."

"Just don't get yourself killed," Fred ordered him sternly, his eyes grim. "And if we hear about any funny business at the Ministry, don't think we won't tell Dumbledore what we know."

"As long as you wait until after Lupin gets free," agreed Harry.

"I'm not making any promises. We won't let you get killed."

"Come on," said George, a hand on each of their shoulders. "Everyone's downstairs for now, but we don't know for how long. Let's get going."

Fred and George led the way out into the dusty hallway, and back toward the bedroom that had been designated to Harry. Before creeping past it, George muttered, "_Nox_!" And the light on the tip of his wand went out. "There are eyes everywhere, most of them outside our control," he muttered in explanation, casting a wary glance through Harry's bedroom door, which stood ajar. "Hurry up!"

...

...

...

The room into which the Bukhalovs had been shepherded was small and unfurnished, but very clean. The floor was shining linoleum and the walls were stark white, offset only by a large, rectangular portrait of the Minister of Magic hanging on one of them. They had been on their way to a different section of the Ministry when word had arrived from a source unknown to the foreigners, and Elena, being the only English-speaking member of the family, had deduced that the climate had suddenly become very dangerous. The rise of the Dark Lord was no longer information secret to them; from what Elena could gather from the hushed conversations of the Ministry workers, an impending attack on the Ministry itself was imminent, and their safety even here in Great Britain was at risk.

None of them, not even the man called Roger and his two colleagues, were allowed to leave the room. More security had been put in place outside the door to the safe room, and at the entrance to the Ministry. The Ministry officials seems outraged at the unexpected hindrance, but the three Bukhalovs sat quietly. Aleksandar, especially, understood some of the severity of the situation, and he kept his mouth shut and his eyes open.

At one point, Roger received a seemingly urgent message through the portrait of the Minister, and he spent the following minutes conversing tensely with the painting in the corner. Aleksandar and Heidrik looked to Elena for some kind of explanation, but she shook her head. The voices were too quiet to hear.

Roger drew away from the painting, looking crestfallen. He said something in brisk English to his colleagues, and then turned his attention to the Bukhalovs. After his first few words, Elena began to translate stumblingly. "There has been more word from the Minister," spoke Roger, his eyes somber. "We're to stay put. The Ministry isn't safe, but back-up is on standby should we need it."

"Is ze Dark Lord coming here?" Elena asked him in his own language.

"We think so," said Roger. "But we don't know when, or how. All we can do is wait. I can assure you, though we aren't in the clear, the rest of the world is a lot more dangerous than the Ministry."

After Elena translated, Aleksandar reserved strong doubts as far as the truthfulness of the statement. If the strongest international wizarding schools had already fallen, how long would it be until the Ministry followed? But Aleksandar kept silent, and sunk a little lower into his chair.

**Thank you all! Please review. (Unless your name is Maria and you're secretly on my account)**


	33. Morning Breaks

**Chapter Thirty-Three**

**"Morning Breaks"**

Sirius avoided the hidden portrait of his mother as he rounded the corner into the dark front hallway. Brushing a few cobwebs off his shoulder, Sirius took to the stairs, taking them two at a time. The aged wood creaked under him as he made his way up through the house, passing paintings and decapitated heads along the way.

On his right he passed the bedroom in which all the underage wizards in the house had been instructed to stay. He could hear hushed chatter from behind the closed door, and he paused with his foot on the stair to listen.

The voices were too quiet to hear clearly, but Sirius was sure he heard Harry's name mentioned more than a few times. He raised a hand and knocked on the door, then turned the handle. The talking ceased abruptly as he peered into the room.

It was too dark to see any faces, but Sirius could make out the silhouettes of the majority of the students huddled around two of the beds in a corner.

"_Lumos!" _Said Sirius, and his wand tip flared. The teenagers stared at him with wide eyes. "You're all supposed to be asleep."

"Professor Dumbledore told us lights out," said Ron loudly from the center of the group. "We've been sitting in the dark."

Sirius raised an eyebrow, but of course he couldn't really blame them. Their world had crumbled right before their eyes. They hadn't been here the first time Voldemort rose to power; this omnipresent danger was new to them. "Just keep it down, alright?" He emphasized, his eyes flitting to each of them in turn. "We're all running on empty right now, and we need our wits about us. Get some sleep if you can." _They're keeping well enough out of trouble, _he told himself, turning to leave. It was surprising, really... Sirius stopped, turning back with a frown. His eyes swept the other corners of the room, and then rested on Ron and Hermione. "Where are the twins?"

Ron looked guilty, knowing he should have mentioned something before now. "I don't know," he admitted, glancing at Hermione. "They left."

"How?" Asked Sirius incredulously, his hand on the door handle. He rattled it. "This door can only be opened from the outside."

"Yeah, I know," said Ron with a clip to his tone. He had obviously experienced a failed escape. "They left through there, about an hour ago." He pointed to a tapestry hanging on one wall.

"Impossible," muttered Sirius. "No one can use the passageways unless they know the spell, and only a Black would know the spell."

"Apparently they knew it," said Ron, shrugging. "They didn't say where they were going."

Sirius, shaking his head, made a mental note to inform Dumbledore as soon as possible that the Weasley twins were running rampant through headquarters. He left the students in darkness again as he closed their bedroom door quietly, hitting the stairs again, this time at a faster pace.

When he reached the landing on Harry's floor he slowed, breathing normally and smoothing down his front. He didn't want to seem ruffled when Harry came to the door.

But halfway across the landing Sirius froze, staring ahead of him through Harry's open bedroom door. His eyebrows knitted together and he came forward, reaching out to push the door open the rest of the way.

"Harry?" He said softly, looking inside. "Your door was wide open. Are you awake?" Sirius could see a slight lump behind the brass bedposts. He stepped quietly into the room and approached the side of the bed. "Harry?" He tried again.

No answer. Sirius leaned down and grasped the heavy blanket, gently lowering it.

Sirius swore.

Underneath the blanket was another blanket, rolled up and tied in position. Sirius dropped the bed covers and stood back, his heart racing. He saw for the first time that around the room the closets and cupboard doors were all open, and some of the drawers had been pulled out of the walls and left on the floor. Sirius ran a hand through his hair, panicking considerably.

"Harry?" He said tensely, as though Harry may be hiding in one of the closets. "Harry, where are you?"

Sirius pulled out his wand and turned on his heel. Dumbledore and Snape were waiting for him a few floors below. They, and the rest of the Order, needed to be made immediately aware of Harry's disappearance. All the worst possible scenarios ran through Sirius's mind as he made for the door... had Harry been abducted again? Snatched right out from under them? But he couldn't have been, it wouldn't be possible... the house was so heavily warded...

"Looking for the brooding young Chosen One?" Said a snide voice from behind Sirius.

Sirius paused on the threshold and whirled around. He ought to have remembered that the mirror in this room was one the haunts of Phineas Nigellus Black.

"I'm sorry, did I startle you?" Phineas's voice asked him dryly from above the dresser. "I thought you might have been here to find that perpetually troubled young man that left thirty minutes ago."

"I'm looking for Harry Potter," Sirius told him shortly. "Do you know where he went?"

There was a _tsk, tsk, tsk_. "Sorry again, sorry again. He isn't much on talking to himself out loud, unfortunately."

Glaring, Sirius clenched his fists and turned to leave, but Phineas's sly voice stopped him.

"I didn't say I couldn't help you."

Sirius looked back impatiently. "I don't have time, Phineas. I need to find Harry. He could be sleep walking, or worse."

The voice chuckled. "Oh, I don't think he's sleep walking. Not with that little satchel of useless supplies, and the present he left you under the blanket."

"Stop baiting me along, Phineas, and spit it out!" Growled Sirius.

There was a sigh. "Don't lose your head, I'm only trying to help. If you want to find out where the boy disappeared to, you should ask those red-haired twins."

"Fred and George Weasley? Why, do they have something to do with this?"

"I would say so," said Phineas, sounding pleased. "I saw them leading him away."

Sirius's heart sank. If Harry was with the twins, there was no telling where he was. He could be anywhere... if Fred and George knew the spell to use one of the Black passageways, it was safe to assume they knew some of the other intricate secrets of the house as well.

Without another word to Phineas, Sirius left the room at top speed.

Twenty minutes later, he, Dumbledore and Snape had split up to patrol the corridors in search of Harry, Fred and George. Everyone in the house had been put on alert to the situation, and everyone was pitching in. Only one wizard, the tall man named Shacklebolt, had been left with the map in the kitchen, with a system set in place for all the others to be warned simultaneously should there be any changes of note at the Ministry.

Sirius took the seventh floor. He opened every closed door and shone his wand down every nook and cranny, searching for clues that the twins had passed through any of the numerous secret passageways. It wasn't very long before he came upon the guest room that used to belong to his mother. Outside the door, watching his approach with round, yellow eyes, sat Hermione's tabby cat, Crookshanks.

Sirius stared at the cat as he got closer, and it gave a long, plaintive mewl, blinking at him. "What are you doing here?" He asked it under his breath. It mewled again, and scratched at his mother's door.

Feeling disturbed, Sirius reached out to test the door handle. It was locked tight, of course; no one had entered this room for ages. He glanced down at the cat. "Are you touched in the head?"

The cat just stared at him with wide eyes, licking its lips expectantly. Sirius was about to continue down the hallway when it occurred to him to make doubly sure his mother's room was in order. Turning back, he pointed his wand at the lock and spoke a spell only he should know. The handle clicked, and the door swung open. Crookshanks twined his way between Sirius's legs to get into the room, vanishing into the shadows.

Sirius did not see the copious dust and cobwebs that he had immediately expected. In fact, from what he could see, the floor looked recently swept, and the surfaces of tables and shelves appeared clean and dusted. Sirius almost dropped his wand in surprise as he surveyed the bedroom. His mother's old bed was neatly made underneath the pile of parchments and books spread out on it's surface. There was a desk and table set up in the center of the room that had never been there before, and this seemed to be the object of the cat's obsession. The tabby had leaped up onto the table where a great many thin, pale cords were tied together with string. Sirius went over to these and picked them up, holding his wand over them as his frown deepened. The cords led in all different directions from the bunch in his hand, trailing off the table and onto the floor. They led toward all four walls and disappeared into the woodwork at the edges of the room.

"What's going on here?" Sirius muttered out loud. He held one of the cords up to his ear. Nothing happened. He dropped that one and chose another, listening to that one instead.

A voice echoed loudly, as though the speaker stood right next to Sirius.

"-Checked all the lower floors, there's no sign of them." The voice belonged to Severus Snape.

"Come with me. We must search everywhere, even those places where Sirius may not want us to search." That was Dumbledore.

"I knew we should have been keeping a closer eye on Potter after what happened," said Snape's voice darkly.

"Be that as it may..." The sound of their voices faded away as they left whatever place they had been. Clenching his teeth, Sirius slowly lowered the cord from his ear, staring disbelievingly at the rest of them in his hand. He could hardly believe his discovery. Who could have resources like this...?

There was a sound behind him. Dropping the cords, Sirius whirled around with his wand aloft. Fred and George Weasley were gazing at him from beside the hearth, their faces draining of all color. Fred allowed the panel of wall through which they had entered to fall limply back into place.

...

...

...

When the uncharacteristically chilly air hit Harry's face, it sent a burst of livelihood up his spine. He shivered once, seeing his misty breath cloud the air in front of him. Peering over the tops of the nearby buildings, Harry noted the pale pink flush on the horizon; morning was about to break. There were distant rumblings of thunder as a nighttime storm receded far away.

Harry glanced once more up the gaunt side of the house of Black. Fred and George had instructed him on how to reenter headquarters, but Harry strongly doubted he would ever get a change to employ the knowledge. This would probably be the closest he would ever be to the people inside, ever again... He shuddered, this time more fiercely. But he had already made up his mind.

He would need to find his way into Greater London, and he had no broomstick, no Portkey, and no Floo network. He hadn't yet learned to Apparate. There was only one option: Muggle travel.

Harry dug into his pocket for one of the gold Galleons he'd stashed there. The coin glinted brightly even in the dim light, but Harry knew there was little to no chance any London cab drivers would be willing to accept it as payment. He cast around him on the street for anything he could use, like Muggle coins. The street was empty and bare of even litter. It had all been washed away by the storm. Harry's attention turned to the residences around him. In a nearby driveway stood a road bike, leaning against the rail that it was secured to.

Harry made for this with another wary glance around him. Pulling out his wand, he pointed it at the bike lock and performed a quick charm under his breath. The lock sprang loose and he grabbed the bike's handlebars, wheeling it silently and quickly out of the driveway and down the street. He mounted the bike and set off toward the heart of London just as the first rays of morning sun broke over the city.

**Let me know what you think!**


	34. The Beginning of the End

**Chapter Thirty-Four**

**"The Beginning of the End"**

"Tell me this is all some kind of prank," said Sirius, gazing at Fred and George Weasley, who sat side by side in chairs in the middle of his mother's old bedroom.

"We know we may have been wrong," said Fred in a small voice. On his face was something akin to guilt. "But we weren't being allowed in on Order meetings. We're of age, and we only want to help, but no one in the Order has even considered giving us a chance."

George nodded. "We've been developing those since early last summer," he said, indicating the pile of severed Extendable Ears on the table. "Only for stupid things, at first. Mum destroyed most of what we had, but the prototype survived. There was never a better use for them before we came here."

Sirius whistled and shook his head. "This is pretty serious," he told them sternly. "I'm going to need to know some things, not the least of which being how you came to know the secret spells to operate the Black family passageways."

"It was easy-" began Fred, but Sirius held up a hand to stop him.

"Right now, what's most important is Harry."

Fred and George cast each other sidelong glances, looking increasingly guilty.

"What is it, boys?" Sirius pressed, his eyes sharp.

The twins appeared to be communicating silently with each other about something. George shook his head, his eyes widening pointedly, but Fred was frowning. With furrowed eyebrows he turned back to Sirius. "Sorry, mate. We thought it would be a mistake not to help him."

Sirius held his breath for a moment, his eyes narrowed.

"He was so certain," Fred continued. "The look in his eyes... I've never seen it before."

Sirius breathed slowly, feeling as though his chest had turned to ice. "What did he ask you to do?"

Fred looked at George with an apology in his eyes. "He needed a way out of headquarters."

"Why?"

"He said if he didn't face You Know Who, all of this would never end..."

Sirius felt lightheaded with shock. "You... you didn't show him the way out." He ran a hand over his forehead. "You didn't let him go out there alone..."

"You Know Who has Lupin, mate. Harry said Lupin would be killed if Harry didn't show up at the Ministry, alone."

"The- the Ministry?" Sirius stuttered. "Well, that's-that's impossible, we have a map. Harry can't go there without being seen, and neither can Voldemort."

Fred bit his lip. "We told him which parts of the Ministry are undetectable," he said. "Extendable Ears, remember?"

Sirius was stricken. The devastating truth was slowly sinking in. "How long ago did he leave?"

"Twenty minutes, at most..."

"How is he getting there?"

"We don't know. I gave him my wand, but otherwise he's got nothing."

George had remained uncharacteristically silent throughout the exchange, but now he spoke up. "We told him to go to the Visitor's entrance. That's where he'll go first."

Fred nodded, grateful for George's support, however reluctant.

Sirius got to his feet. "I'm going after him. When I get to the front hall I'll leave a Patronus for the others, telling them what I've learned. When I get back..." he paused, and his eyes emphasized the possibility of never returning, "I want to find you in the kitchen with the others, explaining to all of them what you've been up to."

Fred and George looked apprehensive, but they nodded slowly in agreement.

...

...

...

Harry bent low over the handlebars and pedaled as fast as he could. The cool morning air whipped his hair against his face as he rode and tugged at the sleeves of his thin jacket. If he'd known it would be this cold outside headquarters, he would have chosen warmer clothing, but he had expected a summer climate.

Around him, London was coming out of its slumber. The people were beginning to stir on the sidewalks and streets, and they looked just as surprised by the weather as Harry did. Many of them hadn't donned jackets at all, and they were regretting it.

Harry ducked down a few back streets, pedaling through several parking lots and over two or three lawns. A taxi cab honked angrily at him for crossing through traffic, but he only pedaled faster, standing to absorb the shock of an unavoidable pothole and disappearing through the nearest alleyway.

At an intersection between a book store and a coffee shop, Harry stopped to get his bearings. Judging by his pace, he knew he must be getting close. To his left was a rather dingy street, sparsely populated by Muggles loitering in front of a long, graffiti-covered wall. But to his right, through a narrow alley between two shabby offices, Harry could see the healthy, thriving streets of London running between tall buildings and magnificent steeples.

The twins had told him he would find the Ministry at the heart of London, and to look for a red telephone box. It was the only accessible entrance they knew of. Harry got off the bike and let it lean against the nearest wall. He would go on foot from here.

Keeping a hand over his back pocket where Fred's wand was tucked away, Harry started for the narrow alley between two of the office buildings. The opening was so small he found he had to turn sideways to fit. With his back flat against one of the buildings, he side-stepped his way toward the light of the central square, a hand on Fred's wand the whole time.

He was almost out when the light from ahead was suddenly blocked out. Harry inhaled sharply, his fingers gripping the wand. There was a figure standing at the end of the alleyway, staring in at him. Harry's heart beat wildly, but he didn't move.

All he could see was the silhouette of a bulky cloak with the hood drawn up. The stranger beckoned him to come forward.

"Who are you?" Asked Harry in a low voice, wishing his hands weren't trembling.

The stranger's shoulders moved and Harry heard a chuckle. The hair on the back of his neck stood up at the sound, and he drew his wand and held it up. "You..."

The man laughed again, and Harry shuddered so deeply that he nearly dropped his wand. "Stay... stay away from me."

Barty Crouch, Jr. lowered his hood, and the light from the street behind him illuminated his fair hair and gleaming eyes. The Death Eater looked in at Harry, leaning casually against one of the office buildings. "Are you coming?" He drawled.

Harry stared at him angrily. "I'm not going anywhere with you," he spat, keeping Fred's wand between them. "I agreed to meet with Voldemort."

"How do you think you're going to get there?" Asked Crouch, amused. "You can't prance in there through the Visitor's Entrance like a show pony. Only I can get you inside."

Crouch's dark inflection made Harry's stomach clench. He hovered on the spot, torn between anger and cold feet.

"Look, Potter," said Crouch lazily. "You can come with me, or not, it's up to you. I can't fit in there to get you, as you can see. Just remember why you came. Are you going to let your friend Lupin pay the price for your cowardice?"

Harry grit his teeth furiously, and stepped forward, knowing he couldn't back out now. Just out of reach he stopped again, eyeing Crouch. Even in the shadow cast by Crouch's body Harry could see the sneer on the older man's face.

_It doesn't matter,_ he told himself firmly. _I have to be here. _

Forcing down his feelings for Crouch, Harry steeled himself and took the last step out of the alleyway. As soon as he was within reach, he felt Crouch's vice-like fingers close around his forearm. He let out a gasp as Crouch rammed him hard into the wall by his arm, pushing him up against it from behind. "Drop it!" Crouch hissed into Harry's ear, and Harry felt saliva hit his cheek. "Drop your wand!"

Crouch twisted Harry's wrist and the wand clattered to the pavement. Harry let out a cry at the sharp pain in his hand, hoping a passing Muggle might step in, but none seemed to see them. Wherever they were standing must have been warded against nonmagical passersby.

Crouch dug his elbow once into Harry's upper back, and Harry heard him kick the wand away. "Good boy."

"Get off me!" Harry gasped, his face pressing painfully against the side of the building. "Take me to Voldemort!"

"Oh, I will," leered Crouch. Seizing the shoulders of Harry's jacket, Crouch spun him around and held him still, looking down at his face. "Looks like you healed up pretty nice, didn't you?"

Harry didn't answer. He glared up at Crouch, and his eyes flashed.

"The Dark Lord sent me to retrieve you, but has forbidden me to... taint you." Crouched growled, his eyes roving over all of Harry that he could see. "You see, I was so very disappointed not to get a real taste of you that all I wanted was a second chance."

Harry shuddered. "He's forbidden it," he repeated Crouch's words. "You can't touch me."

"I can touch you, Potter," Breathed Crouch, and his voice was low and menacing. To prove his words, he ran his hand up Harry's arm to his shoulder, trailing his fingers over Harry's collarbone and up his neck. "A little bit of play is enough for me."

"What-" Began Harry, but Crouch covered his mouth with his hand. Harry sputtered, trying to turn his head away, but Crouch did not allow it. One of Harry's arms was trapped behind his back, and the other was caught in Crouch's grip.

The Death Eater's hand ran slowly over Harry's neck and chest, tracing the light, tense muscles beneath his shirt. Immobilized by Crouch's strong embrace, Harry wondered how on earth he could have put himself back into Crouch's possession. Crouch pinched his nipple, and then tweaked it again, marveling at Harry's muffled groan. Harry squeezed his eyes shut in horror as Crouch pushed his legs apart with one knee, and ground up against him hard.

Crouch's hand left Harry's mouth to explore his abdomen and navel. "Don't!" Rasped Harry. "Get off me!" He felt his muscles contract involuntarily against Crouch's cold fingers, and the Death Eater seemed to enjoy it.

The fingers traveled south until they cupped Harry against the fabric of his jeans. Gasping angrily, Harry let his head fall forward against Crouch's cloaked chest. He felt Crouch's hand grope him once, roughly, and then release him.

Crouch stepped back and Harry was forced to find his feet. His knees were jelly but they steadied under him as he gained his balance.

"I hope you enjoyed that, Potter," teased Crouch's voice. "I thought you might faint for a moment."

Harry steadied himself, breathing heavily. He hadn't found his voice yet.

"The Dark Lord is waiting for you. Make up your mind. You are either coming, or you're not."

With that, Crouch twirled on his heel and began to walk away. Stunned, Harry hesitated only for an instant. Thinking of Lupin's agonized face in his mind's eye, he stumbled after Crouch's receding form.

...

...

Sirius Apparated into the shadows on a dingy street near the center of London. With a few whispered words he cast a Disillusionment Charm, and proceeded out onto the street toward a few dumpsters and a wide, arcing wall covered in graffiti. Coming into view between the dumpsters and the colorful wall was a red phone booth, its glass panels cracked and broken with the phone dangling from it's cord. Sirius searched the whole street with his eyes. The only people in sight were a few tired-looking Muggles, one of them pushing a shopping cart. Harry was nowhere in sight.

Sirius strode toward the phone booth, his eyes sweeping the nearby Muggles for signs of disguise. They appeared perfectly average. Sirius passed the dumpsters and the phone booth, his feet silent against the pavement.

Up ahead, there was an abandoned bicycle leaning up against the wall of a tall, musty building. Sirius felt his heart lift as he made for it. The bike lock was still dangling from its handlebars, and it hadn't been broken. Sirius seized it and performed a quick investigative spell, quickly determining that a magical charm had been used to release the lock. He dropped it, and peered around the nearest shadows.

It was then that he both heard and saw movement in a sliver of an alleyway between the office building and its neighbor. Crouching down, despite his disguise of invisibility, Sirius crept toward the narrow gap. He could hear voices as he got closer. There were two of them, and they were having some kind of tussle.

Sirius heard Harry's voice. "He's forbidden it. You can't touch me."

The other, larger man was pushing Harry up against the wall at the other side of the alleyway. Sirius rushed forward and tried to squeeze into the gap, but his shoulders were too broad.

"I can touch you, Potter." The other man's voice was unfamiliar to Sirius. He was pushing up on Harry, who was struggling to get out of his grasp. "A little bit of play is enough for me."

"What-"

Harry's voice was cut off when the stranger covered his mouth with a large hand. The man started touching Harry's neck and chest, and his intentions were clear.

Sirius had seen enough. He couldn't fit through the gap, or call out to them, for fear of getting Harry killed. He wheeled around and ran for all he was worth, turning sharply down the nearest back street into the central square. He intended to kill the man when he reached them, and he didn't care what the consequences might be.

He spotted the office building ahead and he sped up, but when he got there Harry and the other man were nowhere to be seen. Sirius skidded to a halt and cast wildly around the busy intersection. He was on the brink of yelling out for Harry when he spotted the cloaked wizard leading the boy away.

Sirius took off after them, his eyes glued to the back of Harry's head. Invisible, he wound between tourists and vendors, trying desperately to catch up. A moment later, Harry and the wizard disappeared through the door of an abandoned building, closing the door behind them. With a burst of speed, Sirius whipped through a confused tour group and leaped up the crumbling front steps, reaching out for the door handle. Slowing and quieting at the last moment, Sirius turned the handle as silently as possible.

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	35. Gamble

**This chapter brought exclusively to a computer screen near you by: 5 Hour Energy. GO PLACES.**

**Chapter Thirty-Five**

**"Gamble"**

"Keep up, Potter," barked Crouch from ahead.

Pushing through a dangling veil of occupied spider webs, Harry followed Crouch deeper into the strange, rundown house. He glanced through a crooked door frame on the way by and saw what looked like the kitchen, but by appearances the home hadn't been set foot in for years. The floorboards creaked ominously under him as he walked.

"Can I have my wand back?" He called gruffly to Crouch.

Crouch laughed. "We'll let the Dark Lord decide that. This way." The man pulled open a cellar door, which almost fell off its hinges when it hit the adjacent wall. Harry followed him down the stairs, hoping the boards would hold both of them.

When they reached the basement level, a strange glow reached them. It was coming from ahead, and when he took a few steps closer Harry could see the cellar had been expanded by magic. The ceiling was high above them, and the opposite wall wasn't in sight. They took off across the cement floor toward the eerie glow, with Crouch in the lead.

"Where does this go?" Harry asked, his eyes wide and searching.

"Where do you think?" Crouch held out a hand. "Stop."

Harry stopped, panting.

Crouch was looking back over his shoulder into the darkness toward the base of the stairs, which was beyond their line of sight. The man's eyes were narrowed.

"What is it?" Asked Harry tensely.

Crouch glared into the darkness. "I heard something. Hurry up, Potter, let's go."

Crouch reached out to grab Harry's arm, but Harry wrenched it away, backing quickly out of reach. "I can walk on my own," he said sharply.

After a moment's hesitation, Crouch showed Harry his yellow teeth in a sneer. "Make it snappy, then." He picked up a brisk pace in the same direction as before, and Harry waited for him to be a few steps ahead before falling into step behind him.

The glow got brighter, but Harry still couldn't see any sign of the opposite wall. They reached a row of metal pillars stretching up toward the distant ceiling, and Crouch slowed to a stop again. He took out his wand, pointing it at the empty space between two of the pillars. The glow around them suddenly intensified, and Harry realized it had been in the air all along. There was no real source; it was as though the air particles between pillars were magically illuminated, glowing brightly.

At Crouch's voice, the glow burst forth into a full screen of solid, glimmering blue, and Harry jumped back with a start. The screen stretched between two of the pillars like some kind of window, and it's surface rippled and gleamed like mist.

"Don't be shy. It'll only tickle a little," drawled Crouch.

"We're going through that?"

"You've never been through an Elephant Hole before?"

Harry shook his head, eyeing the blue, misty material.

"You can go first," said Crouch, grinning. "Bon voyage."

Harry balked, still shaking his head. "This'll take us to the Ministry?"

Crouch gave him a hard shove forward, sparing no time for assurances. "You're losing your chance, Potter. Time is ticking."

Harry sidestepped with agility to avoid another push, and nervously approached the Elephant Hole.

"Go on," said Crouch darkly.

Harry bit his lip hard, giving the dark cellar around them one last sweeping glance. Icy doubt spread through his veins as he took the last step forward. He wanted to reach out and touch the screen, but thought better of it. Remembering Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, he took a deep breath, backed up, and then ran forward with all his might. He braced his shoulders as the blue veil washed over his face and body. It felt a lot like warm water, not at all the violent transport Harry had been expecting, and then he had been propelled out the other side.

His feet his solid floor and he stumbled and fell, catching himself on his arms. He had arrived somewhere much brighter than the cellar he'd left, and he scrambled to his feet, one hand in front of his eyes to shield them as they adjusted to the sudden light.

"Welcome, Harry Potter."

Despite wanting nothing more than to face Voldemort, hearing the sorcerer's light, dangerous tone sent icicles through Harry's heart. He spun around, his breath coming in short, painful bursts.

His eyes found Voldemort, and the room came into sharp clarity. Voldemort was sitting in a high-backed, throne-like chair on a raised platform of polished wood. His Death Eaters stood staggered around the platform, wearing their trademark black cloaks and skull masks. Harry could see the glinting of a few dozen eyes fixed on him from across the floor. He glanced behind him; the Elephant Hole looked the same from this side as it did on the other side.

Looking back, he found Voldemort rising to his feet. Black robes fell around the sorcerer's feet with the distinct whisper of rustling silk. Harry faced him, swallowing past the lump in his throat. "Where's Professor Lupin?"

Voldemort smiled. "Such affinity. It surprises me, considering his...condition."

"He's a friend," said Harry angrily. "He wouldn't hurt anyone."

Voldemort hissed through his teeth like a serpent. "A friendship that has reached its end."

Harry frowned as Voldemort beckoned one of his followers. The masked Death Eater knelt at the base of the platform, leaning toward Voldemort.

"Go and kill the Werewolf," breathed Voldemort.

"No!" Shouted Harry, running forward with outstretched hands. "Don't! You told me that if I came here-"

Two Death Eaters moved toward him to block his way, grabbing him by the shoulders to restrain him. He heaved against them, trying to get to Voldemort and his kneeling follower.

"Voldemort!" Harry yelled, digging his heel into the shin of the Death Eater on one side. The man gave a grunt, and elbowed Harry hard in the rib, doubling him over. "Where's-where's Lupin?" Harry gasped.

Voldemort's crimson eyes gleamed at him as the sorcerer surveyed Harry from above. "Harry," he said in a soft voice. "I told you to come alone."

Harry, still recovering, looked up in confusion. "I did come alone," he said between breaths.

Voldemort raised his eyebrows and came down off the platform. "No, Harry. You did not."

At his words, the Elephant Hole behind Harry began to hum. The two Death Eaters on either side of him turned to look as he did.

The Hole hummed louder and then peaked, and two forms erupted from its center. The blue energy surged brightly and then flared out, disappearing completely.

Crouch had someone else with him. Harry felt his heart drop into his stomach as he stared at Sirius, bound by the wrists, wandless.

Any trace of malicious playfulness was gone from Crouch's face. He looked murderous as he hauled Sirius forward. There was a dark bruise on Sirius's temple, and blood on his lip.

"Sirius!" Gasped Harry, and he felt the two Death Eaters on either side of him release his arms. He stumbled forward, and Crouch pushed Sirius toward him.

"Harry..."

"Sirius, what are you doing here?" Harry demanded, and as they neared each other Sirius reached up with bound hands to grab onto the front of Harry's jacket.

"Harry, what in hell is going on?"

"You shouldn't have come! You weren't supposed to be here..." Harry gazed into his eyes, feeling desperate. "Now they're going to kill Lupin."

Sirius stared back at him, there was a sadness and imminence in them that made Harry weak in the knees. "I couldn't let you go it alone, Harry," said Sirius. He shook his head slowly, and his fingers tightened in Harry's jacket. "I'd rather die."

"Touching sentiments," came Voldemort's cool voice. Harry and Sirius both turned to look at him, surrounded on all sides by Death Eaters. The Dark Lord's fingers were clasped in front of him, and his servant had also gotten to his feet. With a last bow to Voldemort, the man backed away from the platform and passed Sirius and Harry on his way to the Elephant Hole. As he passed, Harry wanted to lunge for him, to tackle him, to somehow prevent him from leaving. He started to pull away from Sirius, but Crouch was one of the Death Eaters between Harry and the executioner, and he was blocking Harry's way.

"Don't kill him!" Cried Harry, but even Sirius was holding him back.

"We may get out of this, Harry," Sirius whispered urgently, grasping Harry tightly by the jacket. "Dumbledore and the rest of the Order will be here any second. They know we're here."

"Actually," interrupted Voldemort smoothly. "They aren't coming. Not in the context that you think."

Sirius straightened up, turning to Voldemort. "We have a map of this entire Ministry. We have people on the inside of this very building, only a few levels above us, ready to step in and fight. This will never work in your favor."

Voldemort clicked his tongue mildly, and some of the Death Eaters tittered among themselves. "You have no one, Sirius Black. At least, no one inside the Ministry."

"You're wrong," growled Sirius.

"Am I?" A glimmer of amusement shone in Voldemort's crimson eyes. He reached up and his black silk sleeve slipped down his arm, exposing the skull and snake symbol burned onto the skin there. With one long finger, Voldemort pressed down on the skull. There was a hissing sound, and Harry thought he could see the snake moving inside the skull's mouth. He tried to swallow, but his mouth was too dry. He glanced at Sirius, and Sirius was looking gravely back at him.

...

...

...

**THE SAFE ROOM...**

Roger Rigby paced the white floor of the safe room, running his hand compulsively over his mustache. He had never been in this position before, even working in law enforcement. Nobody's life had ever depended on him, and him alone.

The foreigners were seated at the table, and they didn't look any better than Roger felt, but the language barrier prevented him from offering them any comfort. What comfort was there to be given? They wouldn't be leaving here until the Ministry was secure again, and they may even have to fight. There was no comfort.

Roger passed Monica, who was sitting on a bench along one wall of the safe room, next to their other coworker. Monica looked drawn and weary, staring distractedly at the floor, and Tepton Flinch looked sweaty under his mop of blond hair. Roger nodded at them and aimed for the portrait of the Minister again, hoping his presence would illicit another update.

On his way back past the Bukhalovs' table and his colleagues, Roger noticed a sharp movement from Monica's corner. Both he and Tepton looked inquisitively at her.

Monica was clutching her forearm, and her eyes were closed. Frowning, Roger made his way to her side and touched her shoulder. "Miss La Vier, is something wrong?"

Monica didn't respond. Her head was bowed and her eyes were closed. Her fingers lay gently over her forearm.

Roger glanced at Tepton, then back at Monica. He shook her gently by the shoulder. "Miss La Vier? Monica?"

She straightened her shoulders under Roger's hand, and her lips parted. "Yes, my Lord," she whispered.

Roger stared at her uncomprehendingly. Her eyes flickered open.

"Monica?" Roger asked again, his voice tense.

Monica's eyes were empty. She stood, and suddenly a wand was in her hand, pointing up at Roger.

"Monica!" Tepton cried out, getting to his feet. "What are you doing?"

"_Expelliarmus!" _

Both Roger's and Tepton's wands flew out of their robes and Monica plucked them deftly from the air. She pushed them into her red belt, her eyes on Roger.

"What's going on?" Roger repeated, trying to keep his voice light.

Monica said something in harsh Russian to the Bukhalov family, who had all half-risen from their seats. Whatever she said, it seemed to quell them effectively, and they sank back down, their eyes wide. Monica hissed a quick spell and ropes sprang from the arms of their chairs, binding all three Bukhalovs in their places at the table.

Roger held up his hands in a placating motion, moving subtly toward Monica, but her wand was on him again and he froze.

"I am sorry, Roger," she said in a quiet French accent.

He looked back at her, entirely confounded.

"_Avada kedavra!_" She said, and behind Roger, Tepton Flinch reeled backward and collapsed to the floor, dead.

Roger let out a yell and threw himself at Monica, but she parried his attack with a spell that sent him soaring away from her through the air. He struck the opposite wall and crumpled to the floor beneath the portrait of the Minister of Magic.

Monica stepped toward the portrait, now directing her wand at it's center. With a few spoken words, the painting of Cornelius Fudge went up in flames. Bits of canvas crimped upward, curling away from the heat as though it could feel the burn, and the frame popped and whistled as it was consumed by fire. It only lasted a few moments, and the charred, empty frame fell smoking to land on the floor beside Roger.

Roger stared at it in shock. "Monica, how could you do this?" He gasped, his eyes fixing on Tepton's lifeless body.

"For my daughter, sir," she answered coldly. "Zere is no uzzer way."

"I don't understand... we worked together, we've known each other for years."

"Ze times 'ave changed, Roger. Now we must 'elp ourselves. Listen to me. 'E might let you live, if you do what 'e says."

"I don't believe it. How long have you been working for You Know Who?"

"Long enough to know zere is no uzzer way."

The oldest Bukhalov boy asked something in Russian, and Monica gave him a lengthy response. Roger braced himself against the wall, suspecting that a few of his ribs were probably broken, until Monica looked down at him again. "I told zem ze Dark Lord does not want zem to die. And you do not 'ave to die, Roger. But none of us are going to leave until ze Dark Lord has gotten out of zis building, wiss ze Potter boy."

"What, You Know Who is here? Right now?"

"Yes. 'E has instructed me to kill you next, should 'e require it."

"Why? Why would he need that?"

"If Dumbleedore and ze Order of ze Phoenix do not heed ze Dark Lord, and ze perimeter is breached, you will die. If 'Arry Potter escapes or fights, you will 'ave to die. It will be you, and zen ze Russians. Dumbleedore knows by now zat ze Dark Lord is in control of ze Ministry. It is up to 'im, and to 'Arry Potter whezzer or not you live."

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	36. The Devil's Demons

**Chapter Thirty-Six**

**"The Devil's Demons"**

**HEADQUARTERS**

"Are you my nursemaid?" Demanded Moody roughly.

Molly Weasley stopped messing with his cuffs, giving him a pained look. "I don't mean to fuss, Alastor, but you've only just been discharged, and now you're rushing back out into the field..."

"Madam Pomphrey couldn't have kept me in that infirmary for one more minute," grumped Moody.

"You almost died," fussed Molly, despite herself. "I'm not one to question Albus Dumbledore, but sending you out again so soon?" She cast a glance over Moody's shoulder at Snape, who was pouring over the Ministry map on the kitchen table.

"You didn't see the other blokes up there," said Moody darkly. "I'm one of the lucky ones, and Madam Pomphrey would agree." He took his cloak from a nearby stool and shrugged into it, picked up his gnarled walking stick, and turned to face the room at large. "Snape! How long will you be?"

Snape looked up from the map, his eyes cold.

Moody clunked toward the kitchen door, still gazing impatiently at Snape. "Shall we?"

Snape's lip curled as he straightened up. "After you."

The two of them left the kitchen, and Molly Weasley hurried along behind them, still fluttering over Moody's condition. "It's just that this is so very important! The world is on the brink of war, the Ministry is in shut-down, we have nothing working in our favor. You may still be too weak!"

Moody stopped and Molly collided with him. She recovered quickly as he turned to face her. "Most of those cells in Azkaban are filled because of me," said Moody in a dangerous voice. "I've been playing this game for a long time, and weakness has no place in it."

"The headmaster has already given the order," said Snape to Molly. "He is coming, and we must hurry."

Molly watched anxiously as they departed, leaving her almost alone in the daunting house with the youngsters and her treacherous sons. She smoothed down her apron with nervous fingers as the front door clicked shut behind them. She heard the _crack_ as they Disapparated.

Back in the gloomy kitchen, Molly bent low over the kitchen table, one of her hands on the map of the Ministry and the other tucked into the front pocket of her apron. Her eyes followed the movements of the people trapped inside the Ministry, and she tracked their paths with her finger, worrying her bottom lip as she thought.

About an hour before, Mrs. Weasley and several other Order members had detected irregular activity on the map, in a room referred to as the safe room. It was a lead-lined, explosion-proof room that could withstand huge, catastrophic events and highly concentrated doses of magic. The people inside, which included several Ministry officials and a group of foreign ambassadors, had begun behaving strangely and erratically. Only moments later, Dumbledore burst through the door to inform them that Harry had been found, and that the Ministry was no longer in Fudge's control. Monica La Vier had gone rogue and burned his portrait, taking everyone else in the room as hostages.

Meanwhile, Sirius Black had followed Harry to the Ministry, entering by unknown means, and they were now being held by the Death Eaters.

Molly bit her lip hard, and her nail dug angrily into the parchment. She felt Emmeline Vance come up behind her, and felt a gentle hand on her shoulder.

She looked up at Emmeline, who moved beside her and sat at the kitchen table.

Molly sat, too, folding her hands in front of her. She shook her head. "I feel so useless."

Emmeline gazed at her sympathetically. "You're not useless, Molly. You do more than most of us."

"I keep asking myself, is it my fault?" Molly clasped her hands tightly. "Did I do or say something wrong when I was raising them?"

"It isn't your fault, Molly," said Emmeline firmly. "Boys will do what boys will do, especially the intelligent ones."

"Intelligent?" Molly ran her hand through her flaming, red hair. "They allowed Harry to leave headquarters, completely alone. They paved the road for him to go and get himself killed, and Sirius followed, and they'll both probably die." For the hundredth time that morning, tears sprung to Molly's eyes. She blinked them away. "The disciplinary hearing will be sometime this summer, before the start of term. As soon as things... settle down." Her voice trembled.

Emmeline reached out to cover Molly's hand with her own. "Then let's not think about it yet. All we can do is our job, and Dumbledore's told us what that is. We're the only ones here to monitor this map. So we'll monitor. But we can chat, and have tea, as well." She stood and crossed the kitchen floor to the stove, where a kettle had begun to steam.

Molly wiped a tear off her cheek and sniffed. Not only were two of her sons on lock-down facing expulsion from school, but her youngest son hadn't spoken to her since she refused for the second time to let him fight. Her eldest, Bill, was in critical condition in the infirmary, while Charlie still hadn't been seen nor heard from since the Ministry shut-down.

At this point, the future seemed bleak. There was the sense that they'd fallen back into the clutches of the Dark Lord, past the point from which there was no return.

Emmeline brought over a tray, and placed a cup of tea before Molly on the table. Molly took a sip, but felt no comfort.

...

...

...

Like all members of the Order of the Phoenix, Remus Lupin had submitted to a Tracking Charm before entering the field. Alastor Moody and Severus Snape followed the signal all the way into the central square of a clean, quaint village, where they found that Lupin's trail ended abruptly.

_So this is Haslemere? _Thought Snape to himself, looking round him as he and Moody traveled through the busy intersection. In their Muggle attire, the two wizards didn't stand out, although Snape noticed a few curious eyes straying over Moody's wooden leg as they passed by. Snape wondered whether they should have disguised that, as well.

The legendary church stood right in the middle, rising far above the town. Snape looked up as far as he could to the white steeple, which was so high it almost disappeared into the lowest clouds. His dark eyes reflected the cross at the very top.

Moody saw him looking, and growled, "Thinking of finding some forgiveness for the sins of your past?"

Snape leveled a cold stare at him, and picked up a brisk pace, making straight for the church. Moody limped after him, huffing.

Snape tried the iron handle on the giant double door; it was unlocked. The door swung inward, and Snape slipped inside.

The inside of the church was empty and cavernous. Moody came in behind him and closed the door, shutting out the sounds of the busy midday town square.

There was no sign of the Reverend as they made their way down the aisle toward the alter. Snape's eyes pierced the shadows at the edges of the room, searching for any sign that things were not as they seemed. As they neared the alter, Snape caught sight of the only other person in the room; a young woman sitting in a front pew with her head bowed and her hands clasped.

She must have been unable to continue praying as the harsh sound of Moody's wooden leg drew nearer, because she rose from her seat as they approached, turning to them with a kind face. Her eyes roved over Moody's grizzled face and eye patch with cautious curiosity.

"Good day," said Snape, with a little inclination of his head. "We didn't mean to interrupt you, but we need to speak to the Reverend."

"You didn't interrupt," she assured them. "But the good Reverend isn't here. Is there anything I can help you with?"

Snape and Moody exchanged dark looks. "Where is he?" Asked Snape.

"I don't know," the woman admitted, and Snape noticed a flicker of worry in her eye.

Snape's nostrils flared. "Have you heard from him at all?"

The woman frowned a little. "I don't know if it's really my place to say," she told them sternly, studying them harder now. "But if you need help with anything, please do ask me. You can make yourselves at home, if you like."

Snape drew something out of his pocket and opened it, showing the woman his counterfeit Muggle FBI badge. She glanced at it, and then back up. "I'm sorry, sir," she said quickly. "I didn't realize."

"You were about to tell us what you know about the Reverend's whereabouts, I believe," spoke up Moody for the first time, and at his grating voice, the woman grew visibly nervous.

"I-well, I... I don't know for sure. I'm afraid to say anything that may not be true," she said, looking between them uncertainly.

"Has he phoned you?" Snape asked her. "Perhaps he mentioned something in the recent past to indicate where he might be?"

The woman's hands twined in the front of her skirt. Her eyes darted behind her, as though making sure none of her sisters were within hearing distance. Then she turned back to them, leaning in close to speak in a whisper. "I think the Reverend may be struggling with mental illness." Her eyes widened at the sound of her own voice speaking the words.

"What do you mean?"

She glanced behind her again. "I found an open letter in the Fellowship Hall, on a table. I think he'd been meaning to send it, but for some reason he never got around to it. I read it, and... well, it spoke of demons and the Devil."

Snape felt a pit in his chest. "What did it say?"

The woman looked as though she'd rather not repeat it. "It said that the demons have breached the walls, with the Devil on their tails. The envelope next to it was addressed to his son in Newbury."

"Did you share it with anyone?" Snape asked sharply.

"Only Sister Elizabeth, but I asked her not to tell the others. I only told her when the Reverend didn't show up this morning."

"Ok," said Snape abruptly. "We're going to need to take a look around the upper levels. Do you have the key to the stairwell?"

"Yes," said the woman, "But there isn't anything up there, only a few classrooms and the bell tower. There are hundreds of locked doors, but we haven't used them in ages. We aren't permitted to."

"We'll take a look anyway. The stairwell, if you please?"

With a doubtful expression, the woman led the way down another aisle, pulling a set of keys from her pocket as she walked. She selected one of the keys and stopped before the wrought-iron gate that blocked off one of the stairwells. She unlocked it and pulled it open. "Search as much as you want. I'll be back in a moment, with Sister Elizabeth. I think she should be here for this."

"Please wait with her here while we're upstairs," Snape bid her, with a warning in his voice. "We will return to speak with you both."

She nodded, looking as though she'd rather accompany them, but had thought better of arguing.

Snape began up the stairs, and Moody swung the gate shut behind them, tipping his hat to the young woman before turning to follow Snape up the stairs with a great many _clunks._

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	37. This Isn't the End

**Chapter Thirty-Seven**

**"This Isn't the End"**

Snape's foot had barely touched the seventh stair when he stopped, listening. The hall they had left behind them was suddenly full of ringing footsteps, and Snape whirled around. Below him, Moody did the same.

A group of five or six women had gathered at the bottom of the stairwell, and they were staring up at Snape and Moody with a dull glint in their eyes.

Snape exhaled softly. "They've been Imperiused," he hissed to Moody under his breath. "I'm not mistaken."

The woman they had spoken with before came to the forefront of the group. She gazed up at Snape and Moody with something akin to absolute indifference.

"You shouldn't have come here," she said in a bland voice.

"It's clearer now than ever," growled Moody. "This is the only place we should be."

The woman stepped closer to the wrought-iron fence, and Snape raised his wand in warning.

"You won't kill me," said the woman calmly, her eyes sweeping the length of his weapon.

"I may have no choice," said Snape in a low, even voice. "Back away and stay where it is safe. We will kill the wizard who has done this to you."

"They're already coming," the woman said softly.

At her words, Snape detected the faint sounds of several people descending down their chosen stairwell. He tore his wand away from the young woman and directed it upward, his heart beating. The women were no threat, they could not perform magic; the threat came from above.

"Move!" Hissed Moody, pulling Snape by the sleeve back down the stairs. "We can't beat them from the lower ground, man, we must get to even footing!"

They crashed back through the gate and into the group of women, who parted easily around them. Moody was remarkably agile on his wooden leg as they found themselves barreling back into the vast expanse of the Worship Hall. Here, they spun around and faced their adversaries, wands drawn and eyes sharp.

A cruel cackle sounded from the open doorway, and it echoed off the high walls and ceiling. "Running away, lambies?"

Snape's nostrils were white with tension. "Come and face us, Bellatrix Lestrange!"

He saw her shadow first, and then he saw her as she jaunted through the open doorway, twiddling her wand. Behind her came four or five young men, all of whom appeared to be of foreign descent.

"Severus," cooed Bellatrix, curling her wand around a strand of her own hair. "It's been too long, old friend."

"Bellatrix," hissed Snape. "I fear too long is not long enough."

"Are you here for the werewolf, then?" Bellatrix purred, running her wand up her own leg in a very provocative manner. "A silly thing, indeed...the lambs come for the wolf, only to be slaughtered in the end." She took a step forward, and the others began to fan out so that their number sufficiently surrounded Snape and Moody, blocking both exits.

"You're too late," continued Bellatrix in a sing-song voice. "He's already dead."

Neither Snape nor Moody responded. Both were waiting for the opportune moment to strike; a moment too soon, and they would pay for it with their lives. A voice in Snape's mind reminded him that their chances of surviving this encounter were slim to none, being so far outnumbered. But it wasn't over yet.

Bellatrix made the first move. With a shout and a whirl of curly hair, she sent a curse flying into their midst. Moody and Snape leaped into action, parrying the curses that were suddenly coming from all directions.

"STUN THEM!" Screamed Bellatrix. "NOW!"

Snape and Moody were quickly losing ground. "It's been a pleasure serving with you!" Bellowed Moody, striking down an enemy's curse and hurling one of his own into the Death Eater's ranks. As he spoke, an enemy curse singed by his head, burning a dark path through the hair on his temple. He yelled, and cast a vicious curse in the direction from which the other had come.

"ON YOUR LEFT!" Yelled Snape, and Moody threw up a defense just in time. But another jet of light flew from Bellatrix's wand, and this one hit Moody square in the chest. He stumbled and fell, forcing Snape to jump over his body in order to continue parrying curses. Desperately, he searched for a moment to stop defending himself and use an offensive attack, but the Death Eaters weren't giving him enough time to fight-only to keep from being killed. They were closing in tighter and tighter, and Bellatrix's voice was growing louder in his head. Moody was down, there was just no way to beat them-there were too many.

Snape felt the heavy, painful sensation of acceptance wash through his body as he realized he was beaten. He threw out spell after spell between them and the Death Eaters, but the enemies were always one step ahead of him, one step quicker, and so many more in number. Finally, a curse struck Snape's arm and he uttered an oath, dropping his wand to the floor. It rolled to a stop beside Moody's still form. The Death Eaters called out triumphantly, and Snape felt the circle close around them, blocking out the light.

Then there was a sound above them. It sounded like a ferocious wind, and papers began to blow off the tables and across the floor. Snape looked up, and his eyes fell on a wooden cross hanging humbly above the alter, lit by a ray of light from the stained-glass window above.

Then, an unexpected voice broke through the deepening silence, causing everyone in the room to spin around.

"Step back, child."

It was the woman, the young nun with whom Snape and Moody had spoken upon first entering the church. Snape stared at her, astonished. Had she not been Imperiused like the others? The woman's eyes were fixed on Bellatrix.

"Lay down your weapon," the woman spoke again, gently. Snape stared at her, utterly taken aback.

"_Imperio!" _Bellatrix hissed, pointing her wand at the young woman. The spell had no effect.

Without another word, the woman raised her hands, and with a great shattering, the stained-glass windows lining the top of the ceiling all the way around the Worship Hall burst inward, raining bits of glass down on Snape and the Death Eaters. There was an uproar, and Snape took the moment of confusion to grab his wand from the floor, and turn it on Bellatrix once more.

...

...

...

Harry's back was up against the wall, in more ways than one. Sirius was beside him, both of them with their hands bound in front of them, and they couldn't find a moment to talk. Voldemort was addressing all of them in the room.

"We've no hurry," the sorcerer purred, and his tone set Harry's shoulders trembling. "We have won, and they are defeated."

Harry glanced sideways at Sirius. Sirius's eyebrows were drawn and his eyes were dark as he watched the proceedings. Harry looked away, his heart somewhere in the region of his stomach. They had stood a chance... an actual chance...

The Order had known where Voldemort was heading, and they probably could have stopped him, if Harry hadn't blundered it. He'd been so stupid! Thinking he could save Professor Lupin, thinking that Voldemort would actually let the man go unharmed.

Harry gritted his teeth. Now both he and Sirius would pay for his naivete. Lupin would die anyway, and the Order was no nearer to defeating Voldemort than they had been the day before. Harry's actions had once again been in vain. He stole one more look at Sirius. _At least they haven't got Dumbledore,_ he thought darkly.

This time Sirius glanced over and held his gaze. Harry must have looked desperately sorry, because Sirius shook his head, giving him a stout nudge with his shoulder. "I'm thinking, Harry. This isn't the end," Sirius whispered.

There was a titter of laughter from the crowd of cloaked Death Eaters, and Harry raised his head once more to listen to Voldemort's silken words.

"-more could I want? The Potter boy is mine once again, after all. But this time... There will be absolution."

The Death Eaters looked awed and afraid.

"I will obliterate my enemies from this earth, and none shall speak their names as long as my reign endures."

The collective sound of in-drawn breath echoed throughout the room, and some of the Death Eaters looked over at Harry in awe and wonder.

"The Potter boy is nothing more than a boy. Frail, and mortal," Voldemort continued. "But the one death of worth tonight will be that of Albus Dumbledore."

Harry shifted nervously. The pronouncement left a chill in his bones. Dumbledore? They couldn't possibly kill Dumbledore. It could never work.

"And what better way to bring Dumbledore to this Ministry tonight, than to enlist the help of my young friend, Harry."

Harry stared back at Voldemort, stiffening.

"You won't have to do anything, Harry," said Voldemort softly, addressing Harry directly now from his place on the platform. "It will all be taken care of."

Beside Harry, Sirius growled from the depths of his throat. "You won't lure Dumbledore here. He's cleverer than all of you combined," he said harshly.

Voldemort's eyes rested on Sirius, and poison seemed to fill the air between them. Scarlet eyes flashed dangerously. "I will deal with you, Animagus. For the trouble you have caused me, you will know the true meaning of pain."

"I'm looking forward to it," spat Sirius.

"Bartemius!" Barked Voldemort suddenly, and Crouch's figure seperated from the others immediately.

"Yes, my Lord."

"Bring the boy to me. Keep the two of them apart for now. Black will need to be effectively restrained."

Both Harry and Sirius straightened up in alarm.

"Stay back!" Sirius snarled ferociously, but Crouch and three other Death Eaters drew nearer, their hands and wands outstretched. "Get back! I'll transform and tear you to pieces!"

"No, you won't," came Voldemort's amused voice. "Because you know I would kill you and the boy within a moment of the transformation. There isn't enough time to protect yourself and your godson at the same time, Black."

Crouch reached out toward Harry, who reeled away from him, knocking sideways into Sirius. Sirius fought to get between them, shouting obscenities and using his bound hands before him as a weapon. But another masked Death Eater jumped into the tangle, sending bolts of light into the fray that missed Sirius and Harry by inches.

"Careful, Horace!" Crouch yelled, and he had gotten ahold of Harry by the hair at the back of his head. With a great pull he heaved the two apart, and several Death Eaters jumped into the fight behind him to contain Sirius.

Harry struggled violently, twisting underneath Crouch's arm at one point and landing a heavy blow to the back of Crouch's neck. Crouch cursed and almost tripped, but recovered quickly, taking Harry roughly by his bound arms and hauling him forward.

"Put him here, Bartemius, at the foot of the platform."

Harry was thrown hard to the floor. He caught himself on one side and got unsteadily to his feet, throwing worried looks across the room at Sirius, who had been Body-Locked against the wall. Sirius's eyes looked back at him, and Harry knew if the man could speak, he would still have been yelling.

"Good," said Voldemort. "Do you know what I'm going to do, Harry?"

Breathing heavily, Harry looked slowly back up at Voldemort. His eyes spoke for him.

"No?" Voldemort's tone was light and sweet. "I'll explain. The only thing that would bring Dumbledore running would be seeing his favorite boy in trouble. Don't you agree?"

"I-I'm not Dumbledore's favorite boy," Harry stammered. "And he won't come."

"That remains to be seen."

"I won't help you," said Harry in a voice that cracked.

"You won't need to," sighed Voldemort, looking Harry up and down. "Bartemius? If you please."

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	38. Domesticus

**Chapter Thirty-Eight**

**"Domesticus"**

Harry felt that the worst had happened. He stood, bound, in the center of a circle of Death Eaters, whose eyes glinted out at him from behind their skullish masks. He could sense their enjoyment as the circle tightened around him, closing in.

Barty Crouch, Jr. broke away from the rest of the ring, his gaze locked with Harry's. He reached up and drew the mask away from his face. As it dropped to the floor, it left a trail of black smoke in the air that curled upward and disappeared. Crouch didn't break eye contact with Harry as he pulled a wand out of the front pocket of his robes.

Harry set his teeth. It would gratify Crouch and the Death Eaters to hear him protest, so he kept his mouth shut.

"Before we begin, Harry," said Voldemort, his cool voice carrying silkily from outside the circle, "Let me remind you of the consequences should you defy me, and work against my efforts to draw the Order of the Phoenix to the Ministry tonight. There are four hostages above us as we speak, and a faithful servant is poised to eliminate them if you do not cooperate." Voldemort paused, folding his long fingers lightly before him while Harry clenched his into angry fists.

"Furthermore," Voldemort continued silkily, "The entire wizarding world is watching."

Voldemort's words reverberated around him as Harry absorbed their meaning. He frowned, glancing about him in confusion.

"How did you imagine we would proceed?" Voldemort inquired, his scarlet eyes amused at Harry's befuddlement. "It is called _D__omesticus Nuntius,_ a message in the sky. Every sky watcher in the wizarding world will see what goes on here today. Invisible to Muggles, it will show up brighter than the sun to any wizard's eye."

Harry's mouth was open as he stared around him. Though he couldn't find any evidence in the bare room to support the claim, he somehow didn't think Voldemort was telling a lie. "Can they see us right now?" Asked Harry, finally speaking out of a need to know.

Voldemort's smile told Harry that he had given up his last card to play. By asking the question, he had handed himself over to Voldemort's control.

"Yes, Harry. The spell began when you first arrived. It is how the Order of the Phoenix already knows that both you and your godfather are here at the Ministry. It is how they know that I have control over the safe room, and, by extension, the Ministry of Magic itself."

Harry shook his head, aghast. It couldn't be... would all the Order see him tortured? Would Ron and Hermione see it through their window? And who else?

Harry felt numb and utterly lost. Crouch was shifting back and forth a few paces away, as though every second he waited caused him strong discomfort. Still shaking his head, Harry shut his mouth painfully tight. If he spoke up... if he said anything to the audience supposedly witnessing this, or tried to communicate with them in any way, people would die. No matter how badly he wanted to look up and proclaim to Dumbledore and the Order not to make this worse by setting foot in the Ministry, he couldn't do it.

"You may begin, Bartemius."

Crouch's eyes flashed, and he advanced on Harry, who held his ground, breathing hard. Chuckling maliciously, Crouch took hold of Harry by the upper arm and pulled him roughly into the center of the circle. Harry could feel cold, hateful eyes burning into him from all sides, but he grit his teeth, trying to block them out. He looked only at Crouch. He wouldn't give anyone the satisfaction of seeing him afraid.

"Good boy, Potter," leered Crouch, showing Harry his crooked teeth. "You're catching on."

Harry bit his tongue, forcing back an angry reply. It wouldn't do for him to lose both his temper and his focus. He planted his feet for balance as Crouch spun him around so that they faced each other once more. The Death Eater held him rather close by the shoulders, and Harry tried not to breathe in his scent; the same scent as before. It threatened his resolve, tugging at the corners of his repressed memories; things he didn't want to think about, that could bring him down if he wasn't careful. Fiercely, he took control in his mind, forcing out the unwanted thoughts.

"Worried, Potter?" Asked Crouch with a smirk, and his stale breath washed over Harry. He turned his face away despite himself, leaning back against Crouch's grip. Crouch's fingers tightened painfully around Harry's shoulders. Harry grimaced, pushing back with his bound hands against the front of Crouch's robed chest. The urge to struggle against Crouch was starting to overpower him.

"Remember the hostages, Potter," Crouch leered, his fingers biting into Harry's arms. "Don't fight me."

Harry used all of his strength reserves to still his movements until he was immobile in Crouch's semi-embrace. With a lot of difficulty, he raised his eyes to meet Crouch's, and saw that the man was grinning with cruel satisfaction. "First," said Crouch darkly, "We'll start with some old-fashioned fun."

He pushed Harry away from him, and as he let go of Harry's shoulders, the arm restraints fell away. Harry's arms sprang apart as he found his footing, and he spun back around to murmurs and cheers of appreciation from the surrounding Death Eaters. Through a gap in their circle, Harry caught a glimpse of Sirius. Sirius was still Body-Locked against the opposite wall, but his eyes were gazing widely at Harry from across the room. The desperation Harry saw there was enough to bring a wobble to his knees.

Harry would have given anything to keep Sirius from seeing whatever was about to happen. He stared back at his godfather, not wanting to look away. Maybe he would be here with Sirius until the end of everything. Well, at least of everything for them...

A crash broke Harry out of his darkness. With a jolt he cast wildly around for the source of the sound; all of the Death Eaters seemed to be doing the same.

"My Lord! My Lord!"

It was a Death Eater who had fallen through the Elephant Hole into the room. It was the same wizard Voldemort had sent to kill Lupin.

A flame exploded in Harry's chest. He let out a furious yell and launched at the rim of the circle of Death Eaters toward the new arrival, abandoning all reason.

The Death Eaters closed in and Harry felt strong hands grabbing him all over, trying to bring him to a stop. He fought against them, kicking and tearing with his fists. One of them forced him face-first to the floor, and Harry felt more than a few heels dig into his back.

"Control the boy!" Came Voldemort's high pitched voice.

"We've got 'im, my Lord!" Called one of the men holding Harry face-down.

The Death Eater who had come in through the Elephant Hole was looking stricken as he made his way to the foot of Voldemort's platform. His shoulders were hunched and his head hung low as he made a long, exaggerated bow. "My Lord, please..." the Death Eater wheezed.

"What is going on, Godfrey?" The threat in Voldemort's light tone made the Death Eater cower.

"Please, my Lord..." said the man again, "You sent me to kill the werewolf, my Lord, and I went, but when I got there the place were empty."

Voldemort's lips turned slowly whiter. "The werewolf?"

"He were gone, my Lord, there were nobody there, nary a soul!"

Silence filled the room, and the only sound that broke it was sound of Harry's labored breathing beneath the weight of his captors. Voldemort's red eyes were narrowed as he surveyed his subject, and the fury in his face grew starker with each passing second.

"Please, my Lord, forgive me... weren't nobody there..."

"And why did you not search until you found him, Godfrey?"

The man called Godfrey quailed, raising his hands before him pleadingly. "There were no way to track him, my Lord! His signature were gone, my Lord, I couldn't find it. There were no sign to indicate what could have happened to Bellatrix and the others. The building were in perfect order, not a paper out of place. There were nothing I could do, my Lord-"

Voldemort raised a hand, and Godfrey fell silent as though he'd been slapped.

"This is a disappointment," hissed Voldemort, and his servant trembled visibly. "So Dumbledore has recovered his half-breed, and taken some of our own in return." The sorcerer made a wide, sweeping gesture to bring his Death Eaters closer to him. The circle broke, and Harry felt them release him to the stone floor. He drew in sharp breaths, wincing around the pain in his ribs from the heels of their boots. With his cheek pressed against the floor, Harry saw the Death Eaters begin to gather at Voldemort's feet.

Harry raised his head, trying to see what was going on. Then he felt a sharp pain as someone grabbed him by the hair, bending his head backward. Someone was crouching over him, a knee digging into his lower back.

"Don't move," Crouch's voice warned him. "Don't move, or I'll skin you myself."

Harry cried out as he felt Crouch's wand dig into the base of his neck. Crouch dragged the wand down his spine, leaving a hot, burning trail. Harry gasped and arched his back, trying to get out from under his tormentor, but Crouch grabbed him by one arm and then the other, twisting both of them behind him and binding them tightly with a grunted spell. Harry heaved with all his might, trying to roll away, but Crouch threw a leg over his back and straddled him, lowering himself heavily over Harry.

Crouch bent forward over Harry's back and ran his wand back up the boy's spine. "This is where I've wanted you all along, Potter," he hissed quietly into Harry's ear.

Harry gasped into the cold stones, his eyes shut tight as chills ran up and down his body.

"You move, and I'll have my way with you in any way I can, boy. Don't cause any trouble, and I suppose I'll have to follow the Dark Lord's orders not to sully you."

Crouch pushed off of Harry, leaving him bound on the floor to join the other Death Eaters. Harry's pounding heartbeat shook his whole body where he lay.

...

...

**HOTEL BALCONY**

Minerva McGonagall and Albus Dumbledore stood together a few blocks from the Visitor's Entrance to the Ministry of Magic. Their eyes were trained on the sky, where a high definition, multi-colored visual was taking place. The image depicted a room at the Ministry of Magic, a room currently occupied by Voldemort, his followers, and their hostages.

"He overestimated the measures necessary to get me here tonight," commented Dumbledore, and Professor McGonagall looked surprised by the calmness in his voice. Dumbledore continued gently, "He should have known nothing could keep me away. If he had ever loved another person, he would have known that."

"He wants the whole world to see you fail," said McGonagall, and her voice was stronger than she had thought it would be. "To see _us_ fail."

"Yes," agreed Dumbledore. "He does. Whether or not Tom will get what he wants is another story entirely." Dumbledore turned sideways to look at McGonagall, and she was struck by the hope in his light blue eyes that still, even now, somehow twinkled reassurance. She wouldn't have believed there was hope if it came from any other wizard, but feeling Dumbledore's faith brought warmth into her fingertips.

"What are we going to do?"

A floorboard creaked behind them as a third wizard came out onto the balcony to look up at the fractured sky. Remus Lupin took a deep breath, running a hand over a mass of barely healed injuries covering his face and neck. "We'll do what we have to do," he said to McGonagall, tearing his eyes away from the visual overhead. "And Voldemort won't be expecting any of it. He thinks too little of Muggles to conceive that the Seer might be stronger than any of us know."

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	39. Unexpected

**Chapter Thirty-Nine**

**"Unexpected"**

Hijacking a wizard's bridge had never before been attempted in the known history of wizardkind. The Elephant Hole, or wizard's bridge, was a highly advanced magic involving the manipulation of the fabric of space/time itself, a sorcery that only a few wizards had ever attempted, some of them paying for it with their lives. The danger was posed by the relative instability of the portal once it was created, and how difficult it became to keep the portal open, raising the risk of being stranded in unfriendly territory. Most of this history had its roots in a time known to Muggles as the Dark Ages, a period in which European wizards first established a functional government and educational system.

The only sorcerer to have successfully created and used an Elephant Hole since those prosperous years was none other than Lord Voldemort.

This meant he would be fully unprepared for Dumbledore's attack. He would never dream that Dumbledore would be capable of using the portal, especially considering that one must already know it's location, or be travelling with someone who does, in order to open it at all. It was far beyond the reach of Voldemort's comprehension to imagine that the Muggle with them, the Seer, could be powerful enough to locate the wizard's bridge, and Legilimentically transfer the information to Albus Dumbledore, who would then be able to use the information to pin-point the bridge's exact position in space and time, rendering it accessible.

In Voldemort's mind, a Muggle would never deserve such weight of thought, and therefor it would not occur to him to guard his weak spot: the very room where he and his followers sat, with Harry and Sirius.

Remus Lupin had accepted that there would be more deaths. It was highly likely, at the very least, that he may lose more friends today. He clutched the small, black book in the pocket of his robes, giving one long look to the heavens. The sounds of passing Muggles was drowned out by the blood rushing in his ears as Lupin steeled himself for the coming fray.

"Remus?"

Dumbledore beckoned him from behind, and Lupin withdrew from the sidewalk of the busy street into the dimly lit lobby of the empty hotel. A bored-looking clerk behind the counter did not seem to notice them as Dumbledore led Lupin, Professor McGonagall, Mad-Eye Moody, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Arthur Weasley, Tonks, and Professor Snape into the parlor to make ready. Snape and Moody, like Lupin, bore signs and scars of recent battle. But there wasn't a face among them that didn't look prepared to fight.

They gathered by a glass door at the back of the parlor, through which they could look out and see Voldemort's projection against the sky. Lupin turned his stormy eyes back inside as the group pressed closer together, their eyes on Dumbledore.

Dumbledore waited a moment, purposefully letting the silence stretch until all of them had all but succumbed to it, their eyes wide and trusting. Then, Dumbledore spoke to them. "This is it, my friends," he said in a strong but gentle voice. His tones washed any remaining fear from their eyes."This is the final front. We have lost loved ones, and we fear for the ones we love who are still with us. It may seem to some of you as though we fight today to die, to perish protecting the world. But I will tell you now, that we have hope. While there is still a breath of life left to breathe, Voldemort has not won. I will lead you all today not to die for what is right, but to live for it."

The group reached out to one another, putting their arms around each other and circling closer with Dumbledore.

"We'll follow," said Snape. His eyes were oddly bright, but his tone was strong and sure.

"Aye," growled Mad-Eye Moody, and this was followed by several more declarations of loyalty.

Dumbledore looked upon them with kind eyes. "You are the pride of wizardkind," he said, and his voice cracked. "Your bravery here will never be forgotten."

"Let's not get carried away, headmaster," snorted Moody, but there was a softness in his expression that didn't look as though it belonged amongst the war-hardened scars and missing chunks.

Dumbledore's face grew more serious as he looked out again through the glass panes of the door at the sky. "Once we locate the wizard's bridge, we will move immediately. There will be no time to wait. Our attack must force Voldemort not to order the slayings of the wizards in the safe room; we must distract him and overpower him quickly. He will have stationed the majority of his Death Eaters at the other entrances to the Ministry, and he will leave the portal more or less unguarded." Dumbledore hesitated, his eyes sweeping the Order members. "Plans may go astray," he continued, "and that is why we will go in with more than one. Bastian Greenley and Norman Krupp have already taken their groups to cover the other entrances to the Ministry; they arrived from Sweden last night in response to our call for help. If the safe room is compromised by our attack, and Monica La Vier turns on Roger and the Russian students, Bastian and the other Swedes will break into the Ministry from all sides and meet the Death Eaters there, while we continue to engage Voldemort."

There was a sudden intake of breath from around him, and Dumbledore turned to look outside where they were all staring.

The colorful projection had vanished from the sky, leaving only a few white plumes of cloud.

"What happened to it?" Asked Tonks tensely.

"I don't know," admitted Dumbledore in a troubled tone. "Perhaps Voldemort has learned of his folly in Haslemere."

"We must move now, Dumbledore," said Snape in a low voice, his lips bared. "It may soon be too late!"

"I agree, Severus, let us go now. Remus, where is the Seer?"

"He's safe upstairs," supplied Lupin quickly. "I'll bring him."

Dumbledore watched as Lupin left the parlor at a run.

**MINISTRY OF MAGIC, SUB-LEVELS...**

"Crouch! You're staying here! You still have orders to carry out with the Potter boy."

"Yes, my Lord."

"Knox, if you are here two seconds from now, you will regret it. Get moving!"

"Yes, my Lord!" A crack echoed against the stone floor where Harry lay as a Death Eater Disapparated. Several other cracks followed, and Harry's teeth ground together with each one.

The crowd of Voldemort's followers had thinned significantly as Voldemort sent most of them to stand watch in other areas of the Ministry, to fortify the premises and ensure that Dumbledore's arrival was met with either capture or death. Crouch remained behind, with two other Death Eaters Harry didn't know by name. The two unfamiliar men headed for Sirius, and Harry watched them go, the muscles in his neck screaming from strain as he twisted to see them. He was so intent on the Death Eaters making their way toward his godfather that he started and cried out when he felt a large hand grab him by the shoulder, and pull him roughly over onto his back.

Harry looked up into the creased face of Barty Crouch's son, breathing fast. The man's eyes combed him from top to bottom, and back again, taking in Harry's jeans and sweatshirt, and the sheer Muggleness of the presentation. But his gaze wasn't disapproving at all; it was as hungry as it ever had been.

"We're not finished, Potter," growled Crouch, and before Harry could react, the man had straddled him again, lowering himself nimbly down onto Harry's hips, his hands pushing against Harry's chest.

Crouch's weight over his lungs forced another cry from Harry's lips, but he shut his mouth and clenched his teeth tightly, turning his head to the side. "If you want me dead, just kill me," he ground out, not looking back at Crouch.

Crouch reached forward and gripped Harry by the jaw, jerking him frontward and staring greedily down at his face with wide, glinting eyes. "I don't want you dead, Potter," Crouch whispered. "A dead boy can't scream."

With a shudder, Harry ground out, "You can do whatever you want to me, but you won't beat Dumbledore."

Crouch bent so low that his face cast a shadow over Harry's, and he could feel the boy's heartbeat through his sweatshirt. "I can't do whatever I want to you, Potter. Not even close. But I'll make do, and enjoy what I can."

Crouch shoved down on Harry's chest, eliciting a fresh cry of quickly stifled pain, before rolling off and standing. He yanked Harry to his feet, balancing the boy until Harry had found his feet, and then taking a few steps back. Without waiting another moment, Crouch had twirled his wand, and an invisible spell yanked Harry's bound arms from behind him, then hoisted them above his head. The unseen ropes pulled tight until only the tips of Harry's toes touched the ground.

Harry struggled fruitlessly, scrambling to get a foothold that would keep his weight. But the ropes were too tight, and all he could do was hang there in the air, barely touching the floor.

"You are a symbol, Harry Potter," came Voldemort's voice as Crouch held his wand level with Harry's abdomen. A chill traversed Harry's body. "A symbol that, after tonight, will no longer hold any meaning. After tonight, the world will no longer hold onto that shred of hope when they hear your name. No, when your name is uttered, they will know death is coming, for I will find any of them foolish enough to speak it, and I will obliterate them from this earth."

Crouch reached up toward Harry, who tensed, eyeing the man's outstretched hand. When Crouch looked like he was going for the zipper of Harry's sweatshirt, the urge to react overpowered his ability not to. He lashed out with his foot toward Crouch, but his sudden movement caused him to lose his footing, and he swung back toward the Death Eater. Their chests collided, and Harry curled away, kicking with his feet until one of them found Crouch's leg. He pushed back against it, using both his feet now, but Crouch angled in, and Harry's feet slipped past his legs, entwining them in a hardy tangle. Crouch had Harry by the front of the sweatshirt, and there was nothing Harry could do as the man pushed him back and took hold of the zipper. He yanked the zipper down all the way, and with a final tug, broke the tiny piece off the bottom of the garment, casting it to the floor. Even through the sounds of both of them panting, the room was quiet enough to hear the zipper as it pinged off the stone.

Crouch gave Harry a push, setting him swinging once more, before catching hold of him again and pulling apart the top buttons of Harry's shirt.

Overcome, thinking of the horror of having Sirius witness anything like this, Harry kicked as hard as he could. His foot connected with Crouch's kneecap, but Crouch only gave a grunt, and then straightened, yanking a few more buttons loose from Harry's shirt.

Crouch studied Harry's chest, his eyes taking in the letters carved there by his own hand. His eyes flicked back up to Harry's face. "I see that nurse of Dumbledore's couldn't heal you. Not completely."

Harry's hands were starting to go numb from holding his weight above the floor as Crouch gave his button-down another tug, pulling the bottom of it out of the hemline of Harry's jeans. Harry hung his head, his cheeks burning. He wished he could melt through the floor, even if it meant he had to die.

A few buttons clinked to the floor as Crouch ripped Harry's shirt the rest of the way open. "She couldn't heal any of them," he observed in a husky voice. "Shame."

Sweat beaded on his brow as he felt Crouch's fingers sliding over the scars on his ribs. The muscles in his abdomen jumped under the cold touch, and Harry blinked away a dangerous redness that was closing in on his vision. He couldn't believe this was happening again. And it was his own fault...

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	40. Fury's Tide

**Chapter Forty**

**"Fury's Tide"**

Crouch seemed to gather himself for a moment, before giving his head a little shake and taking a reluctant step back from his prey. The Death Eater's eyes were locked feverishly on Harry, and his yellow teeth were bared in a crooked smile. "As much as it pleases me to reacquaint myself," said Crouch, leering, "There isn't the time for anything but getting down to business."

Harry glared, daring the man with his eyes to hurry up and begin. Crouch's grin widened, and he brought his knuckles together in front of him, cracking them loudly.

There was a rustling of robes from the raised platform behind Crouch as Voldemort stood. The sorcerer spoke again in his high, cruel voice, this time to utter a wandless incantation. "_Ostendo osutos transdivosa." _The words echoed softly in the nearly empty room, and Harry stared around, nonplussed, waiting for an effect.

Crouch let out a low chuckle. "Your audience is back, Potter. Take a bow. Oh, just a moment, you _can't. _Bat your eyes at them then, we all know they're pretty enough."

Harry's heart sank into his stomach. He had almost entirely forgotten that their activities were being broadcast at home and abroad. Hadn't they seen Crouch's first assault? Harry hoped Crouch's words meant they had not, though whatever might happen next was bound to be bad, or worse.

"Continue, Bartemius," Voldemort ordered, sinking silkily down into his high-backed chair. "The world will see what has become of their Chosen One, and they will know what will become of them should they fail to fall to their knees and follow me."

"Yes, my Lord, they will," said Crouch, his voice hoarse with joy as he made a bow to his master. He straightened up and faced Harry, his face hardened and set. "It starts with you, Potter. _Crucio!"_

Harry's body erupted in agony. Boiling, fiery lava coursed through his veins, burning and melting him. He couldn't see. Every part of him screamed for release, for death, for anything to end the torment. Surely it would happen at any moment, he would die, and be free of it, but the pain seemed to go on forever. When it ended, Harry found himself hanging limply from his invisible ropes, sweat pouring down his face and neck as his whole body quaked. His head rolled and he retched, but his stomach was empty. He heard Crouch's harsh laughter, joined by calls and shouts of the other two Death Eaters in the room. Harry couldn't see them, but he knew they were with Sirius, and they were all watching Couch and Harry just as the rest of the world watched.

Harry retched again, then tried to raise his head.

"Not a virgin to that one, are you?" Crouch said, smirking. "No, if you were, that curse would have put you out of your senses."

Harry said nothing; he probably couldn't have spoken for several minutes, even if he had wanted to, but Crouch wasn't going to afford him that time.

The Death Eater's wand was up again, and on his lips was Harry's next torment. _"__Intentus ventoris!"_

Harry wasn't prepared when he felt the curse strike him in the gut like an iron fist.

_"Vente! Vente!"_

The curse struck him twice more and he coughed, trying to draw his knees up for protection, but the pummeling had ceased, and he let his knees drop back. He could feel three new, heavy bruises already forming over his ribs.

"That was just for fun," said Crouch with a laugh. "I haven't gotten serious quite yet. Are you ready, then?" Crouch didn't wait to see. He barked another curse, and suddenly Harry's lungs were full of cold water. He gasped and thrashed, but no air could enter as the water flowed out of his mouth and down his chest, soaking his jeans and the floor. Frantically, Harry threw his head from side to side, trying to expel the water and breathe, but he was drowning. Wet hair clung to the sides of his face as his thrashes weakened and his eyes began to roll.

Crouch lifted his wand, and the last of the water spilled from Harry's lips. He coughed violently, vomiting all the swallowed water onto the stones at his feet, and then he collapsed against the ropes holding him upright. Even through the red and black spots obscuring his vision, Harry's mind clenched tightly around one truth, and he gasped it out as loudly as he could. "There's nothing you can do," he rasped, choking back another fit of coughs. "You'll never beat him."

Crouch looked absolutely incensed that the boy was defying him, even as he neared death's door. With a hideous growl, he pointed his wand at Harry's drenched, limp form. "_Iocus!" _He hissed. A leather band materialized over Harry's mouth, securing itself at the back of his head. Harry twisted his head angrily, fighting it, still trying to regain his breath from the last curse.

"The water was for my friend Indius, a faithful servant of my master, who was drowned in the Keller River while fighting your _Order."_ Crouch spat, his voice poisonous and his face red. The man looked upward, Harry could only assume to address their unseen viewers. "This next one, I think you'll enjoy it, it's for-"

Crouch's words trailed off, and a moment later, Harry realized why.

A buzzing had begun, low in pitch but loud enough to reverberate through the entire room. A blue glow was emanating from the corner of the room where Harry knew the Elephant Hole to be.

Voldemort stood, his pale face angry and his scarlet eyes fixed on the empty space.

"My Lord?" Asked one of the other Death Eaters loudly. "Who-?"

"Silence!" Voldemort ordered, his eyes narrowed. A wand was in his spidery hand, and Harry felt Crouch draw away from him in alarm.

The low hum intensified around them, and the blue glow brightened until Harry saw a focal point of light rising from the floor, starting to expand.

"Is it one of ours, my Lord?" Crouch asked nervously, unable to stop himself.

Voldemort was unresponsive as the hum continued to grow. He looked more and more outraged.

"Who could it-?" A Death Eater cried.

"It couldn't!" The other snapped.

The Elephant Hole sprang into operation with a burst of noise and color. Harry could barely see it over his shoulder as the blue screen shimmered and stretched, forming a dark, blurry center. Harry held his breath, his eyes wide.

Out of the portal fell an apple. It was small, and red.

Harry stared at it, completely dumbfounded. He couldn't tear his eyes away from it to gauge the reactions from the others.

Then the apple exploded, and white light erupted from it's center, beaming out in all directions with the force of an Unforgivable Curse. Sirius and the two Death Eaters with him were nearest to the explosion, and when it hit them they all collapsed forward, including Sirius, his Body-Lock failing. The white light hit Harry and Crouch a split second later, and Harry felt the Death Eaters' spell on his arms unexpectedly release him. The white light flowed through him as he fell toward the ground. It was warm and comforting.

As he hit the floor, the explosion was over. Somewhere near him, Crouch was groaning indistinctly, and Harry heard the other Death Eaters making similar sounds. Sirius, however, was recovering, his eyes fixed on Harry as he pulled a wand from an unconscious Death Eater's unclasped fingers and climbed unsteadily to his feet.

Where was Voldemort?

Harry raised himself to his elbows, casting around the room for the sorcerer, but the platform at the back of the room was deserted.

Sirius made his way stiffly to Harry's side as the Death Eaters and Barty Crouch stirred more animatedly.

"Why didn't we pass out like they did?" Rasped Harry, after Sirius had removed the gag and helped him sit up.

"I don't know what happened," said Sirius in an undertone, throwing the length of leather fabric aside. "Are you alright, Harry?"

Harry nodded slowly, and his fingers started to tingle as blood rushed back to them.

"Here," said Sirius in a low, unbelieving tone, reaching down to grab Crouch's wand right out of the man's hand. Crouch's eyes flew open and his arm swung up, latching onto Sirius's wrist. They began to grapple with each other, and Crouch let out a roar, fully awake now as he and Sirius fought. At that moment, several figures erupted from the center of the Elephant Hole, landing on their feet on the hard, stone floor.

Harry dove into the tangle of Sirius and Crouch, landing a hard strike to Crouch's temple as he did so. It distracted Crouch, who was too slow to avoid the spell Sirius sent at him with his hijacked wand. "STUPEFY!" The back of Crouch's head hit the floor, and Harry rolled away, with Sirius not far behind.

The two of them turned to face the newcomers in the room. If Sirius hadn't been there, Harry would have thought the day's events had driven him mad; before them stood Professor Dumbledore, Professor Snape, Professor Lupin, Professor McGonagall, Mr. Weasley, Tonks, and numerous other members of the Order of the Phoenix that Harry was too overwhelmed to register. They were looking at Sirius and Harry with utter relief plain in their eyes.

Tonks and Mr. Weasley rushed over to Harry and Sirius as the two of them straightened, while Dumbledore, Snape, Lupin and the others spread out across the room to secure the remaining Death Eaters and search for Voldemort. Harry felt hands embracing him, saw them embracing Sirius, but he felt somewhat numb. He stared into Mr. Weasley's face, frowning.

"What happened?" He asked with a cracking voice.

"A Berbidus Charm," said Mr. Weasley in a hurried voice. "A lot like a Patronus, but much stronger, and used on wizards, not Dementors. It seeks out malicious intentions; that's why you and Sirius were more or less unaffected."

Harry shook his head in befuddlement, his eyes wide.

"There isn't time!" Mr. Weasley insisted, taking Harry firmly by the upper arm. "You-Know-Who could be anywhere, he avoided the Charm! Others have breached the other entrances, and things have gone south inside the Safe Room, we don't know how badly. Sirius?"

Sirius leaned in, throwing a strong arm around Harry's shoulder.

"You have to get Harry back through the wizard's bridge, now. The rest of us have to search the building for You-Know-Who, and fight the Death Eaters, but get Harry to safety, and take these prisoners to headquarters. We can't have You-Know-Who getting his hands on them again."

Sirius gave a short nod and began herding Harry toward the still-humming Elephant Hole while Mr. Weasley joined the other Order members. They Disapparated together two by two, leaving Sirius and Harry alone beside the Elephant Hole with only three bound, unconscious Death Eaters for company.

Harry was fully prepared to protest, but evidently Sirius had similar thoughts on his mind. "Go!" He yelled, shoving Harry toward the portal and turning back toward the room. Harry felt electric beams of light pull away from the shimmering screen, reaching for him. He stepped back and they let him go. Harry turned to see Sirius making a beeline for Barty Crouch's limp body. Sirius had his stolen wand pointed down at Crouch's heart, and a murderous look in his eyes.

Harry threw himself toward them, yelling, "NO!" He ran toward Sirius, who reluctantly looked back at him. "Don't kill him!" Harry yelled, and he felt hot tears springing to his eyes.

Sirius was looking at him angrily, as though he was crazy. "I have to," Sirius growled. Harry barely recognized the voice.

"No!" Harry cried, coming up short when he reached Sirius, grasping for the wand. "I can't let you become a killer." Sirius allowed Harry to push the wand toward the empty floor.

"I can't accept that," Sirius ground out. His fists were clenched, and his face was white. "I can't let him live. Not after... not after what he..." Sirius trailed off, and Harry was shattered to see him close his eyes in pain.

"You know," said Harry softly. It wasn't a question.

Sirius's jaw twitched and Harry saw another tide of fury swirling in his over-bright eyes. "Of course I know," Sirius whispered. "I've got eyes. I saw how-how he was with you, but he'll never threaten you again. That's why I have to do this."

Harry shuddered. He didn't know what was making him say it; indeed, minutes earlier, he could have killed Crouch himself. "You can't kill him," he said. "I don't want you to. I can't let you be made a murderer, for the likes of him."

To Harry's surprise, he glimpsed a tear slip down Sirius's cheek as his godfather stared down at Crouch, working his jaw. After a long moment, Sirius seemed to shake himself out of a reverie. "It's your choice," he said in a grated voice. "It's not my place to take that away from you, Harry."

Sirius stared down at Crouch's slackened face for just one more moment. Then he waved his wand through the air, and the stunned Death Eaters lying around the room took to the air, floating and bobbing like corkscrews. "Come on," said Sirius, looking down at Harry with unfathomably troubled eyes. "We're out of time."

Harry followed Sirius to the Elephant Hole. First, the Death Eaters were propelled through the screen. Harry waited to see if he could hear them thudding on the other side, but there was no sound. Behind him, Harry felt Sirius's presence. He glanced back, to see Sirius wiping a tear from his cheek. Seeing him looking, Sirius clapped him gingerly on the shoulder, and ushered him forward. Harry faced front and stepped into the portal.

**We're very near the end! (Of this story, not the world.) Leave a review, loves.**


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